Parallel Lines Never Cross
by eirian2
Summary: This is the follow up to the one shot When the Line is Crossed. The aftermath of Molly's actions from everyone else's point of view. Rated T for mild swearing etc later on.
1. Chapter 1

**As usual I own nothing but worship Moffat and Gatiss for the genius they have created.**

**Many thanks for all the reviews for When the Line is Crossed and the requests for a follow up. Here it is. Please read and review...all criticisms are welcome!**

**thanks reading.**

**Parallel Lines Never Cross**

Sherlock didn't remember leaving Bart's. The only vision that swam in front of his eyes was the contents of the waste bin containing all his ruined experiments. Fury flooded his veins like the 7% solution of cocaine that he used to inject in the years before John arrived on the scene.

221B Baker Street.

John sitting quietly drinking his third cup of tea. Reading the newspaper.

The first that John knew of Sherlock's arrival was the shuddering of the windows as the front door was slammed back into its frame.

"Happy bunny this morning then" John mused.

He didn't muse for long. Sherlock strode up to John, casting the paper aside and pulling John to his feet by the collar of his new stripy jumper.

"Get. Me. Some!" Sherlock hissed into John's face.

"What? NO!"

Sherlock hauled John up again so that only his toes were grazing the floor.

"GET. ME. SOME. NOW"

There was something in Sherlock's face that made John hesitate.

"Sherlock, put me down. I can't get you anything while you are hanging on to me" John used his calming doctor voice.

It seemed to work. Sherlock slowly let John go.

"Ok, Sherlock, what is this about? You go out less than an hour ago and come back like a raving lunatic." John straightened his jumper while waiting for Sherlock to replay.

He looked over to where Sherlock was standing at the kitchen table.

Sherlock was looking at his experiments.

John thought there was almost a look of anguish on his face.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned to face John.

John was shocked. The hurt and anger on Sherlock's face was marred by a mask of spitting hate.

"Sherlock? What's happened?" John took a step towards him.

Sherlock turned back towards the table and the look he gave it should have incinerated it on the spot.

"Get rid of this John." Sherlock swept his arm, indicating the table "Dispose of it all and everything in the fridge."

John looked at him in confusion.

Sherlock lived for his experiments.

He'd threatened John with a slow and lingering painful death if he even breathed on them.

Now here he was telling him to dispose of them.

"Sherlock? Really. I mean...these are important. You've worked on these for...well...ages."

"They are of no importance any more. Please do as I ask John but first please get me some cigarettes. And then I would appreciate it if you just leave me the fuck alone."

With that he swept out of the kitchen and into his room.

Slamming the door so hard that the glass in his bathroom door shattered.

John stared at the door.

Sherlock had sworn.

Sherlock never used profanities.

Never.

Ever.

What in God's name had happened to Sherlock.

Bart's!

He'd gone to Bart's.

Molly.

No...Molly...she wouldn't have upset Sherlock this much. She couldn't...could she?

The more John pondered this while standing by the table, the more confused he became.

A voice distracted him.

Muffled by the door.

"I take it that you are not intending to grow the tobacco for my cigarettes."

John sighed. Even furious Sherlock was a sarcastic bastard.

"I know where you hide my secret stash...just get them and leave them by the door."

John dismantled the front of the speaker from the stereo and retrieved the offending items and threw them at Sherlock's door.

"Matches!"

John swore..._for fuck's sake. _He picked them up and threw them to join the cigarettes.

John sat back in his chair and tried to deduce in his best Sherlock manner, just what had happened in the 56 minutes that Sherlock had been absent from 221B Baker Street:

He'd been annoyed when he'd returned home last night.

He'd been his usual self leaving this morning.

He'd been heading to Bart's.

Bart's. It had to do with something that had happened there.

John looked towards Sherlock's door and then at the kitchen table. He was certainly NOT going to dispose of any of Sherlock's experiments at the moment. It would be quite like Sherlock to change his mind in half an hour and then berate John for the next six months for doing as he was told, when he should have known that Sherlock didn't actually mean what he said.

John pursed his lips and nodded.

Bart's it was then.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thanks for all the reviews, you have no idea how much they mean! As usual I own nothing but the plot...**_

**Chapter 2**

_Bart's Hospital._

She was beginning to regret her actions of earlier.

Regret was the wrong word.

Mortified.

Horrified.

Embarrassed.

All the adrenaline that had coursed through her when she dumped his experiments had fled and all that was left was humiliation.

He had deserved some sort of retribution.

But not that.

Definitely not that.

John made his way down to the Morgue where he was hoping to find Molly.

He tentatively pushed the door open and peered inside. Molly was sitting in her usual spot, twirling a pencil between her fingers and staring into space.

So wrapped up in her misery she didn't notice his entry.

John shuffled his feet.

Molly was still in a world of her own.

John coughed.

Molly jumped.

And peered round behind him.

As if looking for someone.

"Oh! Sorry John...miles away there!" She gave him a half smile.

"I noticed. Are you alright Molly? You look a little...well...distracted?"

She hopped down from her lab stool. "No, I'm fine. You?" before John could reply "Coffee?"

"Hmm, no thanks. Just finished breakfast." He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back and fore on his feet. "Look Molly..."

"Is he with you?" Molly interrupted.

"Who? Oh, Sherlock? No...no...actually..."

"Good."

John's eyebrow's rose.

"I mean...right...yes well must be off, can't stand round here talking, lots of work to do." Molly was fluttering her hands as she spoke. Forgetting her offer of coffee.

"Molly, I don't need to be Sherlock to know that something's not right here" he noticed her flinch at the name. "So, are you going to tell me?"

"There's nothing to tell. I'm a bit busy. You know overworked and underpaid."

"Molly."

Molly squared her shoulders "Just because Sherlock can bully me into revealing things I don't want to doesn't mean you can too. So if you don't mind. I'd like my morgue back. Thank you." She turned and sat back down.

John stood.

And stared.

Who was this person and what had she done with Molly Hooper.

"Molly..."

"Bye John." She didn't turn round.

John remained where he stood, determined not to leave without some answers.

"Molly, I'm not going till you tell me what's going on. Have you seen Sherlock this morning?"

He saw Molly's shoulders tense.

"Hmmm...no" she answered truthfully if not quite within the spirit of John's question.

"Oh right, it's just that he said he was coming here and then he was back at 221B within the hour, spitting feathers and has just shut himself in his room for a monumental sulk. He even told me to get rid of the experiments on the kitchen table."

Molly's eyes met his for the first time.

"Really?"

"Yes, and to clear out the fridge." John shook his head in remembered disbelief. "I mean he obviously doesn't really want me to do that, so I've just left things as they are. He'll come round...by Christmas if we're lucky." He smiled but it was forced. "Right then, if you haven't seen Sherlock, I'd better try Greg for a reason for Sulk of the Year."

"Right...see you..." Molly wriggled on her seat.

Torn between telling John what she had done.

Or taking the memory of what she had done to the grave.

She decided on the middle ground. Partly.

"John."

He stopped and turned round.

"I did see Sherlock last night."

John's eyebrows rose.

"Oh, no...not like...no nothing...I mean..." she was wringing her hands again "I mean I was on a date and Sherlock texted me for help and I didn't reply so he turned up at the restaurant and threw a tantrum then my date left and then Sherlock had another go at me and then he left." The words spilled out of her in one long rambling sentence.

"So you ignored Sherlock? Last night?"

Molly nodded.

"That would explain why he was in a snit when he came home last night but he was fine when he left 221B this morning, so it wasn't that." John frowned and rubbed his chin. "Who else could he have run into here Molly?"

Molly shrugged.

"Well, good for you Molly." John smiled. "Standing up to Sherlock, it's about time you did that, you let him walk all over you." He clapped her on the shoulder.

Molly looked mortified.

"Right, well...I'll be off then..." John stood a little straighter "I'll see you about, Molly."

With that he left a troubled Molly in the morgue and left Bart's.

The long black car waiting at the entrance needed no introduction.

The door opened and a voice emerged.

"On the case of Sherlock's latest outburst, Dr Watson?"

"And good morning to you too Mycroft."

"Do get in the car Dr Watson, I believe that I might have some relevant information regarding my brother." the last word dripping with pain.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**Thanks for all your wonderful reviews, they mean so much and also to all of you who have added the story and me as a favourite!**_

_**I haven't forgotten my other in progress story 'When the Walls Come Tumbling Down" the characters just won't do what I want them to do at the moment.**_

_**Anyway, here we go for Chapter 3.**_

**Chapter 3**

Inside Mycroft's Car.

John slid into the back of the car, inhaling the warm smell of leather, cigars and expensive cologne.

"Well?"

"Yes, indeed. Thank you for agreeing to this, Dr Watson."

"I didn't have much of an option. So, this information regarding Sherlock? What is it?"

Mycroft gazed out of the window, pursing his thin lips.

Deciding.

"My brother, is, as you know, a difficult man."

John nodded.

"I gather that your visit to Dr Hooper this morning is related to his current state of...shall we be polite and call it...frustration."

"Frustration? I'd have called it a temper tantrum, but..."

"Indeed. Possibly a more apt description, as you say. But to return to the point, have you found the reason for his outburst?"

"No, Molly hadn't seen him, but there's defiantly something wrong there. She was worried that Sherlock was with me and couldn't wait to get me out of the lab. That's not like Molly at all."

"I would suggest that you return to Bart's and ask Dr Hooper, that while she hadn't seen Sherlock this morning, what did she hear when he was there." Mycroft tapped the glass and the car pulled up.

"So Sherlock did go to Bart's this morning?"

"Undoubtedly" Mycroft nodded to John "Good Morning Dr Watson."

John stepped out of the car; unsurprised that he was back outside Bart's.

-0-

John had a weird sense of déjà vu when he returned to the lab.

Molly was still sitting in the same position as when he'd arrived there earlier.

"Molly."

Nothing.

"Molly?"

John walked towards her.

"Dr Hooper" John barked out in military fashion.

Molly jumped to her feet, panic written all over her face.

And again she looked behind John.

"He's still not with me, and I want to know why the idea of Sherlock being here is worrying you so much."

Molly looked at John. Then at the floor.

Then back to John.

"I don't know what you mean." She folder her arms defensibly across her chest.

"I know that Sherlock was here this morning, Molly"

"How? Who said? Did he? Did he tell you?"

"No...but he was here and that's the reason he's now holed up in his bedroom in 221B Baker St, mainlining nicotine and breaking things. That's not a good sign with Sherlock and I have no intention of going back there to deal with Sherlock without some answers."

"I haven't seen him" Molly had the grace to blush slightly.

"I didn't ask that, I asked what happened when he was here. And don't tell me you don't know, Molly."

Molly looked to the left of John.

Then to the right.

Then at the floor.

"The floor isn't going to help you Molly. What happened?"

"I can't tell you." It was almost a whisper.

John brushed his hand down Molly's arm "Why? Why can't you Molly? Is it really that bad?"

"Yes"

Molly's head hung like a wilted flower.

John had to smile at her posture, despite wanting to know what had happened.

A thought struck him.

"You didn't snog him did you?"

"What? NO!" Molly backed against the desk "No, I told you I haven't seen him today. I...I wasn't here when he came in. So I haven't seen him." She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands.

A childish gesture.

"But you know why he's in a mood?"

Molly nodded.

"Are you going to tell me?" John repeated his earlier question.

"Can't"

"Why?"

"Because...I can't change it. And he'll hate me forever for it."

Molly slid down the side of the desk and crumpled in a heap on the floor.

Burying her head against her knees.

Blocking out John and the Lab and the continued realisation of what she had done.

John knelt in front of her.

"Molly, Sherlock won't hate you forever. He might sulk and not speak to you for a while, But you're his pathologist. His. And he needs you."

Molly shook her head.

"You won't like me either."

John was starting to get exasperated.

"Molly, I don't believe there is anything you could possibly do that would make me hate you."

She looked up at him.

Eyes red rimmed with unshed tears.

She nodded towards the yellow contaminated waste bin in the corner of the lab.

John looked at it; then at Molly and then back to the bin.

Slowly he stood.

And walked towards the bin.

Opened the lid.

And peered inside.

"Bloody Hell Fire" John turned to look at Molly "Are those what I think they are?"

Molly nodded once. Slowly.

"Well that explains the mood" he dropped the lid, hiding the lost experiments.

He turned to look at Molly, sitting in abject misery on the floor.

"Why did you do it Mol? Tell me, so that maybe I can explain it to Sherlock."

Molly wiped her nose on the sleeve of her lab coat and sniffed.

"I've already told you."

John looked bemused.

"When you came here earlier."

John still looked confused.

"Sherlock...last night, he ruined a date. He's always putting me down, telling me I'm useless and my taste in men is terrible. But I had a date and he was nice and I liked him and Sherlock..." she shuddered to a stop but took a deep breath and carried on "Sherlock turned up and in front of Jonty told me that I'm his. And that he needed me. Tell me John, if I'm useless then why does he need me? Why am I only his when he wants something?"

John had no answer to what he felt was a genuine gripe against Sherlock.

"Anyway, I got in here this morning and there was an email from Jonty, saying that he was sorry things hadn't worked out and that I shouldn't be looking for a relationship when I was already in one with the man who texted me constantly. How can I explain that I'm nothing to Sherlock when deep down Jonty was right, but the relationship is all one sided. I give and Sherlock takes. And then I just wanted to take something from him, to make him hurt. Like he hurts me."

John sat down in front of her.

"So, the first thing I saw when I closed the email and looked up was all of Sherlock's experiments on the bench. I didn't even think about what I was doing. I just picked up a test tube and threw it against the wall. And it felt nice. A release. And I...I just picked the rest of them up and threw them in the bin."

She wiped her eyes. Then looked up at John.

"I felt happy and I had got my own back on him. I felt powerful and he wasn't going to strut around here like he owned the place again. Because there was nothing here for him to come here for. Then I heard him coming down the corridor. And I hid. In the cupboard."

John pushed his fingers though his hair.

"I could hear him, through the door. He...he was mad and he knew it was me. For one minute I thought it was marvellous. And I laughed" Molly sobbed, tears coursing down her cheeks."I laughed, John. I am a terrible person."

"Molly, if anyone deserves a medal for dealing with Sherlock it's you. And believe me, no one will blame you for snapping and doing what you did. No one." John shuffled forward and pulled her into an awkward hug.

"Sherlock will." Molly replied simply.

John had no immediate answer to that.

Silence enveloped both of them.

Eventually John spoke.

"Sherlock will get over it. He'll start the experiments again. Most of them were probably pointless anyway." John tried to joke.

"Molly shook her head "Some of them were established experiments with things that Mycroft got for him. It would take years to replace them. He'll never forgive me that. And I wouldn't expect him to."

She said this with such finality it broke John's heart.

"Let's cross that bridge when we get to it, ok? Let him calm down and he'll be back in here just as before. But I tell you what. I'll leave you now and I think you need to take a half day." He stood and pulled Molly to her feet. "And I am going to try and talk to that selfish oaf I call a flatmate." He kissed Molly on the cheek. "I'll send you a text later, ok?"

Molly nodded.

John turned and left the lab.

He wasn't surprised to see Mycroft's car waiting outside Bart's when he left.

-0-

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**Thanks for all your wonderful reviews, they mean so much and also to all of you who have added the story and me as a favourite!**_

**Thanks to: Lono, Louisethelibrarian, patemalah21, coloradoandcolorado1, magicstrikes, Ssmill, DragonRose4, shepweir always and daisherz365, your reviews have made me keep going when I would have just thought...meh...can't be bothered to write any more. Your comments inspire me. **

**Thanks xx**

**So here we go.**

**Chapter 4**

Outside Bart's

John climbed into Mycroft's car and sighed. Instead of Mycroft, Anthea was now sitting next to him, tapping away at her Blackberry without acknowledging him...as usual.

"Hello" John as usual broke the silence.

"Oh, yes...hi." she turned back to her phone and John knew that was the end of that.

He sat back and watched the London streets pass by.

_What in God's name am I going to tell Sherlock? Ok, let's get the facts together. Sherlock was a tit...again. Molly had enough. Molly dumped his experiments. Not good...not good at all. And why is it me that has to pick up the pieces again? _John mused silently as the car pulled up outside 221B Baker Street.

"Well, goodbye." John stuck his head back through the car door.

There was no response and he slammed the door shut; squared his shoulders and opened the door to 221B.

-0-

Mrs Hudson was standing by her door, peering worriedly up the stairs.

"Oh, John. I'm so glad your back. Sherlock must be in a right palaver, he's been taking pot shots at my bins." Mrs Hudson rang her hands in despair. "I was afraid someone might call the police."

John briefly hugged her.

"Don't worry Mrs H, I'll try and sort him out" he raised an eyebrow "or at least stop him shooting your bins."

"Thank you, love." She scuttled back into her flat and closed the door.

-0-

_Ok...that's the way he's playing it...fine._

John slowly made his way up the stairs; waiting for the sky to fall in on him the moment he opened the door to the flat.

He pushed it open.

Silence.

"Sherlock?"

Silence.

"Sherlock, I know you're in here. Please be an adult for a minute and open your door." John leant against the kitchen table and contemplated making Sherlock some tea.

"Sherlock? Tea?"

No reply..._right then... no reply... no tea!_

John decided that standing in the kitchen trying to communicate with a stubborn and sulking Sherlock wasn't going to work.

He walked up to the door and knocked on it.

Then pushed it open.

Sherlock was sitting at the open window.

His dark blue dressing gown was open, showing a tatty grey t shirt and dark grey pyjama bottoms.

His wrist leant on the windowsill with John's army revolver delicately held in his long fingers.

Sherlock looked at John and took another pot shot out of the window.

Without looking.

A metallic ping followed by a startled yowl indicated that a local stray had had a near miss from a stray bullet.

"Sherlock, put the bloody gun down before you get arrested by the RSPCA for shooting cats."

Sherlock looked at John with despair "The RSPCA do not have arresting powers, John, please get your facts right if you are going to threaten me." He closed his eyes in mock abject pain.

"Fine, I'll ring Lestrade and get _him_ to arrest you...for shooting cats."

"The cat was collateral damage...I was aiming for the bins. And anyway I didn't hit it."

John lost it. "You weren't aiming at ANYTHING...you were glaring at me as you shot out of the window. In London, onto an alley that's used frequently...I just don't..." John turned and walked to the door.

Then he turned and faced Sherlock again.

"Oh by the way, I know why you are in a sulk. Molly told me."

Sherlock stiffened, pulling the gun onto his lap.

"And what did she say? What earth shattering reason did she give for ruining year's worth of experiments? It must have been a very good reason, as you are obviously not displaying any sympathy for me."

"Do you really not get it, Sherlock?"

"I fail to see what there is to get, John? I arrive at Bart's and find that all my experiments...years worth of work are destroyed by some premenstrual female. Do you know how much I had to nag Mycroft to get some of those cultures, John? I literally had to grovel."

"Sherlock." John sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed, ignoring the pained look from the Consulting Detective...World's Only. "Listen, you upset Molly. She was hurt by your behaviour. You can't just barge into people's private lives and demand attention like a petulant two year old. People have boundaries, Sherlock and you disregard them most of the time and..."

Sherlock went to interrupt.

John held out his hand.

"Let me finish. People tolerate you...yes tolerate you, Sherlock because you are the best at what you do. That's why Lestrade comes to you. People let you behave that way because you get results. But everyone has a snapping point."

"And your point is?"

John sighed; this wasn't going to be easy.

"Ok, Molly tolerates your behaviour in the lab because it's connected with work. And because she liked you. But you interrupted her when she was outside work...on a date. And you barge in with your size 13 feet and stamp all over it. Demanding that she goes with you, totally ignoring the chap that's sitting with her. You can't do that to people Sherlock."

"I do it to you."

"Yes and I punch you when you do it. Molly didn't punch you; she punished you in another way. One that she knew would affect you, because despite her crush on you, she knows that you don't listen to a word she says unless it's the results of tests that she's run for you. So direct action it was, and it's worked. You have to learn people's boundaries Sherlock, or one day it won't be just some dumped experiments..." John closed his eyes "it could be deadly."

Sherlock sat quietly for a few moments.

"I fail to see why the experiments were the victim. Why couldn't she have just banned me from the morgue for a while?"

"Because she was angry Sherlock. And you weren't there to vent on but your experiments were. By extension the experiments were you...Molly wanted to see you..."

"Destroyed?" Sherlock for the first time looked something other than cross.

"Yes, in a nutshell."

Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin "Leave me."

"No. I need to know that you understand just why Molly did what she did. And that you aren't going to plan any comeback."

"I need to think things through John; I will need to obviously find a new morgue and pathologist. Get me my phone, I'll need to text Mycroft." He grimaced.

"You don't need to do that. Just go and talk to Molly."

"I have NO intention of speaking to that woman ever again."

John sighed.

Sherlock glared at him. "Get me my cigarettes from the floor"

"Oh just sod off Sherlock." John stood "I despair of you, do you know that. Lestrade said to me once. Sherlock's a great man, one day he could be a good one. Use this to show that you can be a good man, Sherlock."

John slammed the door shut.

Sherlock glared at the closed door.

He would never be a good man; he held to many grudges; look at him and Mycroft.

He closed his eyes.

The door opened again and slammed against the door.

"And you can give me my gun." John grabbed the gun from Sherlock's lap.

As he turned to leave he heard Sherlock's voice.

"What did she say John?"

"Who?"

"...Molly..."

"Oh, right. Well, she's mortified by what's she done. She was in tears when I finally got her to tell me what had happened. She's devastated Sherlock, she knows that you can probably never forgive her. But she was angry." John walked to the door "I suppose there is a bright side to all of this."

Sherlock looked up.

"Molly's got over her crush on you. So at least you won't be irritated by her behaviour when you go there." John closed the door behind him and smiled. Sherlock, despite his complaining had rather liked the fact that Molly adored him.

Sherlock sat upright. _Molly not worship him any more...it was like Mrs Hudson leaving Baker Street...England would fall._

That was not right; the way of the universe was that Molly was his satellite and reflected his glory and told him how marvellously he shone.

That couldn't stop...he wouldn't let it.

Molly HAD to like him.

-0-

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

**Special thanks to: Lady Nuit, IvPayne, Shepweir always, MorbidbyDefault. DragoRose4, Lostmypen120, Aviatree, SpencerReidFan89, magicstrikes, patemalah21 and Ssmill. Your reviews have been so kind and thank you for comments! Each and everyone makes me smile and want to send you all big hugs.**

**Thanks xx**

**So here we go.**

**Chapter 5**

221B Baker Street – Sherlock's Bedroom.

Sherlock gazed at the back of the bedroom door that John had closed behind him.

His hands felt lost without the weight of the gun.

He tried to contemplate John's comments.

Molly not have a crush on him?

Impossible.

He steepled his fingers under his chin and tried to analyse the situation.

He failed...miserably.

He tried two nicotine patches.

They failed.

He tried three patches.

He started pacing his bedroom; he could take seven paces from the window to the wall and eight from door to fireplace.

It quickly became tedious.

He opened the bedroom door to extend his pacing capacity.

He looked in confusion at the broken glass by the bathroom door and tiptoed carefully round it, wondering why John hadn't cleared it up. But that was inconsequential now...what was imperative was cracking the mystery of Molly Hooper and why she no longer harboured long held affection for him.

He began replaying his acquaintance with Molly.

_First time at the lab with Lestrade...not too interested, seemed more interested in Lestrade than him. Second time, on his own but with clearance from Mycroft..._

He'd reached the coffee table.

_Molly had seemed flustered when confronted by him when she was alone. Heightened colour on face and neck, nervous gestures of hands indicated frustration or arousal. Dilation of pupils...all indications of attraction. _Although he hadn't been in the least bit interested he'd filed the information away for future use or reference.

It had come in very handy.

Molly had been a willing accomplice in obtaining body parts for him; allowing him to perform borderline illegal experiments on corpses and had on occasions been rather useful when he was running tests.

But, he had always seen Molly as an assistant.

He'd never seen Dr Molly Hooper when she was on her own or with peers; the self assured pathologist. Writer of several published clinical papers in the Lancet.

All Sherlock ever saw, or wanted to see, was the ever compliant assistant.

Willing to be ordered about at his beck and call.

And now...now she had the audacity to claim that she was no longer in his thrall.

Sherlock had now paced the length of the flat a number of times.

It was only when he stepped in something wet; he stopped.

It was blood.

His blood.

He'd cut his foot on the glass from his bathroom door.

He sat on the sofa and propped his foot on the coffee table; slowly allowing the blood to pool by the fruit bowl.

He slapped on another patch and closed his eyes.

He needed a plan.

He needed to make Molly like him again.

His lost experiments faded into the background of his mind. There were other more important things to worry about.

His pathologist...she was and would remain, until he decided otherwise...his and no one else's.

-0-

He was still sitting with blood seeping out of his foot when John returned.

"Jesus, Sherlock what have you done?" John dashed into the living room following the trail of blood from the kitchen, where he'd dumped the shopping from Tesco.

Sherlock merely raised his foot in the air and waggled it at John.

"Can you do something with it. It won't stop." Sherlock looked pained at the temerity of his body to refuse to obey a direct command for it to stop bleeding. Immediately.

"You know where the first aid kit is Sherlock, why didn't you stick a plaster on it?" John headed back into the kitchen to get the first aid kit from under the sink.

"You're the doctor round here, besides, I don't like the sight of blood."

John looked at Sherlock in shock.

"What? You not liking the sight of blood? You are up to your elbows in it daily when you are on a case."

Sherlock looked pained.

"That's not MY blood. This is..." he huffed "just make it stop John." He flung himself back against the cushions and waggled his foot again.

John examined the small cut on Sherlock's little toe; checking for any residual glass and then wrapped a plaster round the wound. Wishing that he'd had some Winnie the Pooh Plasters from the clinic. He smiled to himself; that would have really annoyed Sherlock.

"There you go, good as new." John slapped the top of Sherlock's foot.

Sherlock made no effort to move.

"Tea, John. And some biscuits if you managed to remember to buy some." Sherlock waved his hand towards the kitchen.

John sighed.

"And can you clear up that glass, I don't know why you left it outside my door, I could and did injure myself."

John looked at the kettle in his hands and wondered if Greg Lestrade would arrest him if he battered Sherlock to death.

He filled the kettle and wandered back into the living room; where Sherlock was still lying, diva like on the sofa.

"So," John sat in his chair and picked up the newspaper "decided on when you are going to Bart's next?" he hid his smirk behind the paper.

"I will need to reset up all my experiments. I'm sure I can find a corner of a lab that's not occupied by Dr Hooper. I have no desire to inflict my presence on someone who can no longer tolerate my being there."

John smiled even wider. That barb about Molly not fancying him anymore had obviously hit home; gone was the ranting Sherlock and in its place was a plotting dangerous Sherlock.

John wondered which one would have been more deadly to Molly.

He suspected the later was the case.

Sherlock was not going to let Molly escape that easily.

"Oh, so you are starting them up again; good job I didn't throw the ones in the kitchen out then."

Sherlock opened one eye "I knew you wouldn't, you constantly fail to comply with my requests. Why should this morning be any different?" He closed his eye again.

John heard the kettle boil and once again contemplated inflicting some serious bodily harm on the man on the sofa.

"So, Bart's tomorrow then?"

John placed a mug of tea and half a packet of jaffa cakes by Sherlock's foot.

There was no reply.

John sipped his tea and played his final shot.

"Oh by the way, I think Greg is planning on asking Molly out on a date now that she's got over you."

He didn't look over but by the sound of fabric on leather he knew that Sherlock had shot off the sofa and was heading to his bedroom.

"We need to get to Bart's this evening John. There may be some retrievable items from the contaminated waste bin, and it will be emptied at the end of Molly's shift."

John smiled and sipped his tea while waiting for Sherlock; he placed a mental bet in his head that when he emerged Sherlock would be wearing the purple shirt; the one that Molly always seemed to appreciate most.

He really is as shallow as a rapidly evaporating puddle at times.

He won his bet.

By 3.56 they were pulling up outside Bart's.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

**Special thanks to: lilipop, Shepweir always, IvPayne, Alianora Serein, lostmypen120, patemalah21, whytejigsaw, Lono, Aviatress, DragonRose4 and magicstrikes. Your reviews have been so flattering; but most of all they are inspiring. Thanks for bringing me back into writing, I adore you all.**

**Eirian xxxxx**

**So here we go again.**

**Chapter 6**

A Few Hours Earlier.

John had been wandering round the aisles at Tesco's wondering just how he was going to get Sherlock to behave like a fully functioning adult.

He'd planted the seed.

He just wondered if Sherlock would take the bait.

But there was no harm in helping things along..._was there?_

John pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled Molly's number.

"Hi Molly, it's John."

"No everything's ok. Sherlock's in a bit of a snit, but he'll get over it. Look Molly, I don't want you to panic about his experiments. He's like a child, by tomorrow he'll have a case and he'll have forgotten about them."

"Listen, I have a bit of a plan."

"You don't need to do anything, just go with what I say regardless of how ridiculous it sounds, ok? Can you do that?"

"Good, and the other thing Molly, can you ignore Sherlock when he comes in next?"

"Yes you can, just think of him ruining your date, keep that Molly in your head. Ok?"

"Right then, see you soon Molly. Bye"

John hung up.

He didn't have a plan, but it was always worth laying the foundations before anything started.

-0-

3.56 Outside Bart's.

Sherlock as usual did not wait for John; he strode out of the taxi and headed through the doors towards the morgue.

Sherlock barrelled through the doors into the lab, his eyes darting everywhere trying to spot Molly.

John followed along at a more sedate pace and arrived a few minutes after Sherlock.

"Molly not about then?" he questioned Sherlock.

"Obviously John, Dr Hooper's absence is clear by the lack of..." he tailed off.

Molly walked into the lab and stopped.

John could see that she was about to go into full Molly mode and he had to stop her rushing into a headlong apology to Sherlock.

"Hi Molly" John spoke over Sherlock's shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her.

He could see her remembering his plan and her eyes signalled that she remembered.

"Afternoon John, you only just caught me, I'm on my way home."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but John got there first.

"That's an early finish Molly, going anywhere tonight?" he raised his eyebrow again and silently pleaded that Molly would play along. "Hot date, maybe?"

"Oh, well..."

"John, I'm sure Dr Hooper doesn't want to waste her precious time with idle chitchat from you."

Molly was mentally blocking Sherlock from her vision and her mind, concentrating solely on John.

"Well, actually...I am going out."

John smiled..._good girl Molly..._

"With someone we know?" John couldn't resist that last dig.

Molly giggled...actually giggled.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Well, Dr Watson, that would be telling wouldn't it." She smiled at him as she moved past to fetch her coat and bag.

She wasn't going anywhere other than the cinema with her friends to watch the latest blockbuster, but as it was Wednesday they could get in cheaper the earlier they went. Hence her finishing early; and as her friends said, cheaper tickets meant more wine after the film in the bar.

"Dr Hooper." Sherlock moved to block her way.

Usually his physical proximity made Molly almost swoon; but today she was desperately trying not to collapse in a puddle of abject apologetic goo at his feet.

And trying to ignore the purple shirt.

The 'purple shirt of sex' that she had mentally tagged it, after once spying a glimpse of pale chest between the straining buttons, as he whipped a corpse.

_Molly pull yourself together girl...remember the date...remember the date..._

She pulled herself up to her full height and stepped into Sherlock's personal space.

She had never done that before.

That was his trick.

And by the look on his face, he did not like it. Not one little bit.

"If you wish for some assistance in the Lab I suggest you contact Mike Stamford. He might be slightly more obliging. Excuse me, I wish to get past." Molly stood her ground. She even surprised herself.

John watched this exchange.

_Good girl Molly. Keep it up._

"I believe that I owe you an apology." Sherlock was looking at anything but Molly.

"I don't believe for a moment you believe that." She snapped at him, not acting at all now "but I expect it's something that John told you to do. But please don't bother on my part. I have no intention of accepting your apology. I have had enough of your behaviour. Both in the lab and outside. Especially outside."

Molly was breathing heavily.

Sherlock was looking dumbstruck.

"And if you expected an apology from me for your experiments, well, yes, I apologise for that. It was wrong of me; I should have just removed them to another lab. But I didn't. So that's the end of it."

She looked at Sherlock and then at John; she had no idea where this Molly had come from.

"I don't care if you accept my apology or not Mr Holmes. But if you do ever return here, just remember this...I am a doctor...you are not...you are just an amateur scientist. Nothing more. Now, if you will excuse me, good afternoon. Dr Watson...Mr Holmes." She spat out the last word.

Sherlock was left gapping at the departing back of Molly..._amateur scientist...how dare she._

John desperately tried to hide his smile. He hadn't even needed to go to stage 2 of his non-existent plan.

-0-

Molly managed to get out into the car park before her knees began to shake.

She needed to speak to John and apologise to him.

Her fingers fumbled as she dialled John's number.

-0-

Sherlock stood, open mouthed.

The he snapped it shut and swept out of the door after Molly.

-0-

He caught up with her just as she finished dialling John's number.

He pulled the phone from her hand and cancelled the call. Not looking who it was too.

"I believe that remorse was implicit in my apology, Dr Hooper...Molly."

"You don't know the meaning of the word, Sherlock."

"I am not the antisocial ape that Mycroft and others have labelled me."

"I thought you were a self proclaimed sociopath? They don't do apologies because they mean nothing to them; therefore any apology from you is worthless. At least mine was meant."

"Was it?" Sherlock closed the space between them.

"Yes...and don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing that you do with your eyes and your...your...everything." Molly closed her eyes, willing the man in front of her to just sod off somewhere...anywhere...just as long as it was far away from her.

"I don't do it deliberately, Molly" he left his voice drop on her name, knowing what it did to the little pathologist before him.

"Yes, you do."

"Molly," he let his voice roll over her like black velvet "I am sorry for upsetting your date, John frequently tells me this is not the correct etiquette of friends...and he punches me when I do it."

"Would you have preferred if I'd punched you in the restaurant?"

"It would have been preferable to the destruction of my experiments, yes."

"I am truly sorry for what I did, Sherlock. But that doesn't change what I said. You can't come in here as if you rule the place. I do. It says Dr M Hooper Pathologist on the door, that's me. Dr Hooper, not Mousey Molly, Sherlock's skivvy. I'm proud of what I do, Sherlock. Just as you are of what you do. But no one puts you down and sends you away when you aren't required. I won't have that happen anymore. So if you want to return to the lab there will be house rules."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

"You can delete my phone number. If you insist on keeping it, which no doubt you will, you will promise never to contact me when I'm off duty. I am not a friend anymore Sherlock, I am a pathologist who will assist you with your experiments as and when I am able. Do you understand?"

Sherlock looked at Molly and smiled.

"Of course, Dr Hooper, anything else?"

"No, not that I can think of at the moment."

"Good, then I accept your apology and your terms, Dr Molly Hooper."

His words slid like molten copper down her spine.

Molly shivered despite herself and she knew that Sherlock would not have missed it.

"Good Afternoon Molly Hooper"

Before she could respond, Sherlock had brushed a whisper of a kiss across her cheek.

And strode away, his coat billowing behind him.

-0-

John sat across from Sherlock in the taxi back to 221B Baker Street. He watched the emotions cross the great man's face; they ended with a smile.

"Don't do that Sherlock."

"Do what?"

"Smile like that."

"Why?"

"You look like a shark going in for the kill"

Sherlock just turned away.

John smiled.

-0-

Molly watched Sherlock's retreating back.

"Bollocks"

She was never going to win against Sherlock Holmes, but she was going to have a damned good go.

-0-

John walked up the stairs behind Sherlock.

"You do realise that you didn't rescue any experiments Sherlock." John filled the kettle.

"Unnecessary John, I will be back in the lab before the end of the week and Mycroft has agreed to replace the cultures I acquired from him."

"Nice of Mycroft."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "He owes me a favour."

"So, you think Molly's just going to back down and everything is going to be as it was?"

"I know it is, John."

"Good...right then..." John poured the tea.

He looked across at the arrogant arse he called flatmate and friend.

_Let the Games Commence._

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**Thanks to ALL of you who have reviewed this story! I have been thrilled by each and every one of them. Plus a big thank you to all of you who have added this story as a favourite and are following it.**_

_**So...let the games commence.**_

**Chapter 7**

The Following Day at Barts.

Molly was sitting at her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Then pausing and reading what she had written.

Then deleting some words.

And starting again.

She smiled. Round 1 of her contest with one Mr Sherlock Holmes was about to go into action.

She had already reactivated the buzzer entry system that Sherlock had nagged her to disarm as it 'hindered' his access. _Hindered his bloody coat flapping entry, more like. _Molly knew that he would barrel into that door and hopefully break that perfect nose of his. Or at least slap into it like a bird flying into a pane of glass.

She could but hope.

She sighed. Looked at what she had typed. Smiled and hit the Print button.

A sheet of A4 paper slid out of the printer tray and within minutes, Molly had laminated it and stuck it to the outside of her Lab door.

And then she sat and waited.

It was after all a very quiet day...all she needed was a Sherlock Holmes to liven things up.

She'd not had such an adrenaline rush since she'd done a bungee jump for charity at her final year at university. Mousey Molly was gone...Sherlock Holmes was toast.

-0-

221B Baker Street.

John was finishing his toast when Sherlock wandered into the living room wrapped in a wrinkled bed sheet.

"For God's sake will you get dressed?" John muttered under his breath.

"You are beginning to sound like Mycroft. Very tedious. Why my state of undress bothers you I can't understand. You wander round in your dressing gown."

"Yes, but I have things on under it."

"Pft" Sherlock collapsed in a heap on the sofa and John averted his eyes; it was far too early in the morning...any morning...to see more of Sherlock than was utterly medically necessary...even in a life or death emergency.

"Not going to Bart's this morning then?" John sipped at his tea.

"I thought that given the current nature of my relationship with Dr Hooper, it might be wise for me to leave it until this afternoon before I visit."

"Relationship? You don't have a relationship Sherlock. You don't do relationships...even platonic ones. Remember?"

"I believe that my dealings over the years with Dr Hooper... Molly, has altered the dynamic from merely acquaintance to colleague."

"Bollocks" John muttered under his breath.

"I heard that."

"You were meant too, look Sherlock, you treat Molly little better than you would an irritating itch. You speak to her as if she was an imbecile, and not the qualified doctor that she is. You invade her personal space when you know what it does to her. That's not playing nicely Sherlock. It's..."

"Not good?"

"No, not good at all."

"Then I need to make amends."

"Don't Sherlock."

"Why?"

"Because whatever it is that you have planned will undoubtedly backfire. And then you _will_ need to find a new pathologist. And your chances of finding someone who will put up with you are slim to bugger all."

"Do I detect an element of sarcasm there, John?"

"NO! You bloody well do not. It's a statement of fact Sherlock. You need to treat Molly with respect. That's all she wants from you. She doesn't want to get into your trousers anymore, thank God that she's got over that humiliating crush on you."

"I wasn't humiliated."

"I wasn't thinking about you." John looked over at Sherlock "It's got to be all about you hasn't it. If you aren't centre of attention you sulk and throw a tantrum."

"I do not." Sherlock huffed.

"Yes you do. Remember walking out of the examination of the Speckled Blonde, because I rightly stated that our clients were reading my blog and not yours."

"I didn't have a tantrum. I'd seen all I needed to see and left."

"Yeah, right. You keep telling yourself that, sunshine." John slapped his newspaper on the side table and stood. "Right then, I'm off out. I'll meet you at Bart's this afternoon?"

"I'll text you." Sherlock closed his eyes.

"Fine, whatever..." John pulled on his jacket "I'm going to get some fresh air."

"In London, John?"

"Oh shut up."

-0-

Molly sat and read the newspaper.

The she read a chapter of her book.

The she made a cup of coffee.

She had not anticipated waiting this length of time for Sherlock to arrive.

-0-

John arrived back at 221B Baker Street to find Sherlock still in the sheet.

Three nicotine patches up his arm.

John looked at his watch.

It was 1.15pm.

Molly had the early shift today which would mean that she would leave at 4.00pm.

It would take at least 30 minutes at this time of day to cross London in a taxi.

Sherlock would take at least 30 minutes to shower and shave.

He could then take up to another 30 minutes to dress..._fussy sod!_

John calculated that Sherlock had 45 minutes to decide whether he was going to move or not.

"Tea, John." Sherlock didn't open his eyes.

"Sherlock." John started to speak but decided it was pointless. He didn't want to wind him up before going to Bart's. "Never mind. Have you eaten?"

"No."

"Fine." John made another slice of toast for himself and poured the tea. "So, do you have any clients to see this afternoon? Lestrade called?"

"No."

"Ok, so Bart's this afternoon then? Like you said?"

"Possibly."

"Ah right, avoidance." John was beginning to know exactly what buttons of Sherlock's to press.

"I can assure you John; I am not avoiding Bart's or Dr Hooper. I am merely timing my arrival for the optimum impact."

"The what?"

Sherlock sat up suddenly and John had a flash of pale bare chest.

"The optimum time John, just before 4.00pm when Molly thinks that I will not be arriving, she will then be off guard and I will have the upper hand." He smiled that sharky smile again.

"This is not a game Sherlock, real people's feelings are involved."

"You are wrong John, a game is precisely what it is...and the game is on." Sherlock leapt from the sofa, rearranging his makeshift toga and picking up John's toast.

And disappeared into his bedroom.

"Git...utter bloody git." John went into the kitchen and made more toast while he waited for Sherlock to transform from the rumpled man into a vain peacock.

-0-

**3.46pm Outside Bart's**

Sherlock bounded out of the taxi and through the imposing double doors at the entrance to Bart's.

John as usual followed on.

Down the two flights of stairs to the morgue.

Sherlock was now striding with impatience to get to the Lab.

He saw the newly printed sign on the door...and ignored it.

He didn't ignore the connecting of his forehead to the glass when the door failed to open.

John watched as Sherlock staggered slightly at the impact.

He tried not to smile...but it was very difficult.

Sherlock shook his head to clear it and pushed at the door again. It was locked.

He looked with abject horror at the buzzer.

_She wouldn't dare. Molly Hooper lock him out._

He rattled the door a few times.

Then a metallic voice came out of the speaker above the door.

"State your name and reason for visiting."

"Molly, stop being childish and open the door." He pulled at the handle again.

"State your name and reason for visiting."

"For God's sake Molly."

John stepped forward "Hi it's Dr Watson and Mr Holmes for Dr Hooper, if she is available."

He stepped back.

Sherlock had noticed the printed A4 sheet of paper and was now looking at that as if it was contagious.

The door buzzed and before he could move Sherlock had slammed open the door and marched in.

_Way to go Sherlock..._thought John.

Sherlock ignored Molly's greeting and waved the laminated paper at her.

""What in God's name is this?" he waved it closer under her nose "Have you seen it?"

Molly swatted the notice away. "Yes, I saw it Sherlock because I put it there. Those are the house rules, if you want to visit then you have to agree to them."

Sherlock looked down at them in Disgust.

**St Bartholomew's Hospital Morgue London.**

**House Rules **

**1. Entry via Buzzer only.**

**2. All appointments to be booked in advance unless accompanied by Police.**

**3. All visits must be accompanied by Dr J Watson.**

**4. Experiments will be contained in designated area.**

**5. Samples and body parts will not be removed without authorisation.**

**6. Conversation will be professional only. **

**7. No flirting or using voice or cheekbones to unfair advantage.**

**8. No comments to be made regarding Dr Hooper's clothes or love life.**

**9. Experiments will be conducted within laboratory hours.**

**10. Coffee can be purchased at Starbucks or Costa Coffee in the street or in the vending machine in the foyer.**

**Signed Dr M Hooper.**

**26****th**** August 2011.**

Sherlock dropped the notice on Molly's desk.

"I see. That's the way you are playing it is it, Dr Hooper." He leant in towards her, dropping his voice.

"That's an infringement of Rule 7."

"Really Molly. This is beyond childish." Sherlock straightened up to his full height.

"Really, Sherlock. Well childish seems to be the best way to deal with you. If you behave then the rules might be dropped. Maybe."

John was watching this exchange with growing admiration for Molly.

"Fine. I accept these ridiculous rules." Sherlock took a deep breath and smiled at Molly. "Please lead the way to my new abode in your domain, Dr Hooper."

Molly sighed and pointed at the far end of the lab behind some machines, which basically blocked Sherlock from view. She'd have to revise the list...she'd forgotten to rule out sarcasm.

**TBC**


	8. Chapter 8

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**Thanks to ALL of you who have reviewed this story! I have been thrilled by each and every one of them. **_

_**Chapter 8**_

221B Baker Street. The Following Morning.

"JOHN!"

"JOHN!"

"JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHNNNNNNNN !"

John stumbled down the stairs, expecting at least to see a conflagration in the kitchen from some misguided tobacco ash experiment.

The kitchen was empty.

John looked into the living room.

Empty.

"JOOOOOOHHHHNNNNN!"

_Ok...so he's in his bedroom._ John sighed and wrapping his dressing gown tightly round his middle, he tapped on Sherlock's bedroom door.

"You ok, Sherlock?"

The door swung open.

"No."

"What's wrong? Are you sick?" John didn't think Sherlock looked any different from any other morning.

"Look." Sherlock pulled John into his bathroom "Look!"

John looked at Sherlock in confusion. "Look at what, Sherlock?"

"This..." he pointed to a miniscule red mark on his forehead.

"What is it?" John went to touch it.

"Ouch, don't"

"Sherlock, I didn't go near it."

"You were about too."

"What is it?"

"The injury from yesterday." Sherlock peered into the mirror and huffed.

John looked perplexed "Injury? Yesterday? What are you on about?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John. "In the morgue. The lab door. My collision with the aforementioned door."

Enlightenment spread over John's features.

"Ah, when you headbutted the door you mean?"

"I didn't headbutt the door, John."

"Oh yes you did. I was there, remember?"

"Whatever, I have an industrial injury caused by Dr Hooper." He dabbed some antiseptic cream on the offending mark.

"What? Oh for fucks's sake, Sherlock. It's a tiny red mark on your enormous forehead. You could slap a stamp on there and no one would notice." John immediately realised he'd said the wrong thing. He felt Sherlock's strong grip turn him and propelled him out of the bathroom door and the door slammed behind him.

_Ok, that's a three day sulk if ever I saw one._

John sighed and went to put the kettle on.

Unless Lestrade came up with a case, it was going to be a very long day.

He wasn't wrong.

-0-

Bart's Morgue Lab Suite

Molly's phone beeped once.

*Sherlock in a snit over imagined head injury. Want coffee? JW*

She frowned. _Industrial injury...this sounded interesting._

*Sounds lovely. Meet at the canteen at 11.00? MH*

*Great! See you there. JW*

Molly smiled, she did like John Watson; he was the calm to Sherlock's storm.

-0-

Sherlock lay on his bed.

Sulking.

He'd been injured in the line of duty before; it was part and parcel of being a Consulting Detective...World's Only. But being injured under friendly fire was beyond the pale. And by the hand of Molly Hooper, no less.

And John had found it amusing.

He now had to work out a plan to worm his way back into the good graces of one Dr Molly Hooper.

After lying there for over an hour, going through various scenarios in his mind he came to the conclusion that he had absolutely no idea how to proceed.

Flowers – over the top and indicative of romantic inclinations.

Wine – as above.

Chocolates – ditto

Dinner – definitely not.

He sighed.

He had no desire..._no pun intended..._to increase Molly's interest in him.

So officially Sherlock was facing a dead end; he would have to take this matter further. He needed research material.

He needed John's laptop.

He slapped on a nicotine patch and closed his eyes; he would wait for John to leave; he had no intention of amusing John when his research commenced.

-0-

Bart's Canteen 11.00am

Molly was already at a corner table when John arrived. She waved him over, indicating that she had already got coffee for them both.

"Morning, Molly." John sat and Molly pushed his coffee towards him.

Molly's fingers fiddled with the sugar packet.

"How's Sherlock?"

John sighed..._please don't say that Mousey Molly has returned._

"Sulking, if I'm honest. He's still in a snit over the access to the lab."

"oh"

"I think he's forgotten about his lost experiments, though" John mused quietly "I think he's more offended by the House Rules."

He smiled over at Molly.

"Really? Mycroft sent a sealed container of specimens' to the lab this morning; I've put them in cold storage."

"Molly" John took hold of Molly's hands "Don't back down and let Sherlock walk all over you again. He needs to be taught a lesson and I think you are the person to do it. God knows every other bugger who knows him has tried."

Molly blushed.

"Molly, don't let the cheekbones and the coat collar sway you back into being a doormat. He knows exactly what he's doing when he does it. It's called manipulation and it's wrong. Well it's wrong when he uses it on friends. Stand your ground with him and he'll..." John tailed off.

"He'll be what?" Molly pulled her hands away. "John, I know you are trying to be kind. I feel utterly ashamed that despite everything Sherlock has done, I still..."

"Fancy the pants off him?"

Molly nodded, dropped her head to avoid looking directly at John.

"Don't feel ashamed. Just don't be a doormat. He'll eventually come round and you might just have a more understanding Sherlock."

"Really?"

"Well...there's always hope isn't there." John sipped at his coffee.

"I just wish that he didn't...well you know. I'm normal round other people. I just turn into an utter numpty when he's about. I'm a qualified doctor, John, and sometimes I feel that I've not even left nursery school." Molly closed her eyes.

"Well while Sherlock is avoiding the lab why don't you try dating? Ask that doctor out again. Explain to him."

Molly looked over at him, sadly.

"He was right, though, I shouldn't try to date someone while I'm still hung up on that insufferable git."

"You keep calling him that and you'll be over him in no time."

John stood.

"Right, better get back to sulk-central, also known as 221B Baker Street, then." He kissed Molly on the cheek. "Just remember...treat him mean." He grinned and walked away.

-0-

Meanwhile.

Back in 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock was perched on his chair with John's laptop held in the crook of his arm.

He'd googled 'how to make up after an argument' and was scrolling through the hundreds of results.

He wasn't impressed.

Most seemed to be of the how to make up with your wife/husband/partner/lover content.

What he was looking for was more specific.

As in, 'how to get back into the good books of the woman who fancies you and lets you access her lab at all hours of the day but is cross with you because you ruined another date' type content.

He frowned.

And hit a promising link.

He deleted it quickly...The advantages of make up sex was NOT was he was looking for_._

_Ah this looks more promising..._

_...you should fully understand your role in the argument and be prepared to ask forgiveness..._

_Not happening._

_...a handwritten note that expresses your regret may be appropriate...wait for tempers to cool before apologizing..._

_YES! A note...expensive paper...handwritten, not a text. _

_Expressing...sorrow...no...remorse...no...disappointment...yes!_

_Disappointment that their friendship had hit a wall._

_Brilliant!_

He jumped up and strolled into his bedroom, smiling smugly.

_Round one to me!_

Sherlock's optimism was boundless and possibly misplaced.

**TBC**


	9. Chapter 9

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**Thanks to ALL of you who have reviewed this story, added it as a favourite or are following...I adore you all! xxxx**_

_**Chapter 9**_

221B Baker Street.

Sherlock lay on his bed, mentally drafting the most magnificent letter of 'almost' apology ever written.

It wasn't going well.

Sherlock had never willingly apologised to anyone and certainly not before John had started forcing him to with the dreaded words...'_not good, Sherlock'._

To be honest he'd faltered at the first step.

Should it be Dear Molly?

Or Dear Dr Hooper?

_Would she read too much into the 'dear'?_

_No, even the most formal of letters begins with Dear...right._

_So, Dear Molly it was then. Or was it? Was that too forward?_

Sherlock eventually decided on the middle ground...Dear Doctor Molly Hooper.

Right!

Marvellous.

He glanced at his watch.

Four words had taken him thirty eight and a half minutes to compose.

Compose!

_Of course, words are just like music. I think better when I play._

Sherlock launched himself off the bed and into the living room; dressing gown flapping behind him like a sail.

He lovingly picked up his cherished violin and slowly rosined the bow. His fingers slowly traced the strings and he closed his eyes as he raised the bow.

He was used to music pouring out of him at this point.

Today...nothing.

Not even the jarring modern stuff that he played just to annoy Mycroft.

Nothing.

He tried to think of some Mozart or Chopin.

Nothing.

His right hand flicked the bow through the air in disgust.

_Fine...music doesn't seem to be aiding the muse._

Sherlock laid down the violin and began to pace.

Kitchen table to front window.

Pause.

Look down into Baker Street.

Resume walk.

Repeat.

Ad Infinitum.

He looked at his watch at one point. One hour and fifty six minutes had past and he still had composed only four words.

He ruffled his hair and collapsed in a diva-dive onto the sofa and huffed.

_Maybe it would be easier if I tried to vocalise the apology?_

'_Dear Doctor Molly Hooper...no...no...no...sounds like a job application.' _

Two hours down and the four words were reduced to nil.

' _Dear Molly'...yes that will do... 'with regards to our current impasse in relation to your denial of my access to the laboratories at Bart's, I wish to confirm that I hold no continuing grudges regarding the destruction of what might have been vital experiments. As it was, they were long term experiments which with time may be replicated. In this respect and acknowledging the above comments regarding aforementioned experiments, I would find it most acceptable for you to rescind your banishment and allow me access to my laboratory space with immediate effect. Yours etc...'_

_Brilliant..._

He closed his eyes in contentment. The matter was done and dusted, it just needed him to write it down, post it and wait for Molly to text him.

And all was right with the world...again.

Sherlock's view of it at least.

_Ah, but post it to Bart's or Molly's home address? Or hand deliver and wait for an immediate verbal apology._

Sherlock decided on the latter. The Royal Mail would take at least a day to deliver it.

And John had run out of stamps...again.

Sherlock took a deep breath and...a thought struck him.

_Ah...no mention of the 'other situation'..._

Sherlock sighed; he would have to, he supposed, address the reason for the destruction of his experiments...namely the interruption of the date with the tedious doctor from Bart's.

_Middle son, middle class...middle of the road...boring...boring...BORING!_

'_PS, I agree that I will not in future intrude on any potential liaisons that you have arranged. I trust that is to your satisfaction.'_

_Yes, that would do, I've agreed to what she wanted...what more does the woman want._

The Woman.

_Yes, well let's not go there, shall we? _

Sherlock shut his mind down firmly on any thoughts of The Woman. She scared him. Not that he would admit it...but she used her body the way he used his mind.

_Maybe I scare people too?_

The thought rushed through his head without stopping for consideration, in the blink of an eye.

Naval gazing wasn't his strong point...unless he was bored.

Satisfied with the epistle he had mentally penned, Sherlock rummaged on his desk for the fine Bohemian stationary he'd been given as a Christmas Gift from Mycroft. He smirked as he remembered the gift he'd given Mycroft...an exercise bike.

Mycroft had not been amused.

Neither had Mummy, but Sherlock had giggled about it all day.

He ripped the heavy cream band from round the edge of the box and pulled out two sheets of expensive cream linen fold paper. Grabbing his pen he dashed off the words he had composed in his mind, in his usual florid scrawl.

Signing it SH with a flourish.

He extracted the matching envelope and folded the paper.

He lifted the lip of the envelope and gingerly tested the taste of the glue with the tip of his tongue.

He wrinkled his nose_. _

_Not too bad._

He licked the rest of the edge and sealed the envelope.

Picking up his pen again, he dashed off Dr Molly Hooper on the front and set it to one side.

_Time for a trip to Bart's before Molly finished her shift and he could be working on his experiments by five o'clock._

He dressed in record time, favouring a black shirt with his usual black suit.

Duly suited and booted.

Sherlock sallied forth from Baker Street.

-0-

John arrived back at Baker Street approximately ten minutes after Sherlock had departed. He was slightly concerned as to what mood Sherlock would be in after having nearly a whole day of sulking.

Maybe leaving Sherlock on his own had been a mistake; he gingerly opened the flat door and sniffed.

No smell of burning or the acrid smell of chemicals.

John assumed it was safe to enter the flat.

"Sherlock?" he looked about "Sherlock?"

_Out then...fine...no note...so not a case. Wonder where he's gone? _

John flicked on the kettle and hummed a little tune under his breath has he waited.

_Wonder where he is...causing havoc no doubt...Oh Shit...Bart's! He's gone to bloody Bart's._

John grabbed his coat and his keys and dashed out of the flat.

_Please God don't let him do anything stupid or open his bloody huge gob before I get there._

God, unfortunately, wasn't listening.

**TBC**


	10. Chapter 10

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**Thanks to ALL of you who have reviewed this story, I have been utterly thrilled by your reviews.**_

_**Chapter 10**_

Outside Bart's Morgue.

Sherlock impatiently pressed the entry buzzer.

Then he pressed it again.

And before it had finished buzzing he pressed it again...and left his finger on it.

Molly had known who was at the door at the first sound of the buzzer. A sixth sense told her it could only be that insufferable sod known as Sherlock Holmes.

She closed her eyes.

She really..._really..._didn't want to deal with him today.

Or any day soon.

Molly realised that she might as well open the door as he was going to stay there until she let him in.

And she knew just how stubborn a miffed Sherlock could be.

She sighed.

Instead of pressing the button on her desk she walked to the door and flicked the lock.

Sherlock barged in.

_Good Morning, Molly, you are looking nice this morning...pft..._Molly played out this imaginary greeting in her mind.

"You've already broken rules 2 and 3."

Sherlock swung round to face her, a quizzical look on his face. "What?"

"The House Rules, Sherlock. The ones you agreed to abide by."

"Did I?" he raised an eyebrow.

_Fine...playing it that way are we..._Molly mentally girded herself for the onslaught. "You did, and you know you did, so stop playing games Sherlock. I'm busy. So just say what it is that you want to say and leave."

"I presumed the rules were merely a guideline for my behaviour. But I think that the rules should be unnecessary after today."

"Why?" Molly folded her arms across her chest.

Sherlock didn't respond.

He reached into his coat pocket and produced the envelope.

And handed it to Molly with a smile. That didn't quite reach his eyes.

"What's this?" Molly examined the envelope. Noting her name on the front in Sherlock's terrible scrawl.

Sherlock sighed.

"It's an envelope, used to convey note paper covered in writing, it's called a letter Molly."

"I know _what _it is, but WHAT is it?"

"Open it?"

"It's not got anything nasty in it, has it? Like anthrax?"

"Not the effect I was going for Molly, No...no anthrax."

She continued to study the envelope.

"Just open the damned thing, Molly."

She just gave him a look and picked up a letter opener from her desk. Sherlock shuddered at the carved monstrosity. _Obviously a trinket picked up on holiday and kept for sentimental reasons. _He had no doubt in his mind that this letter would win over the overtly sentimental Molly Hooper.

She dropped the letter opener back onto her desk and pulled the two pages out of the envelope.

_Dear Molly..._

She read the first sentence. Then read it again.

'with regards to our current impasse in relation to your denial of my access to the laboratories at Bart's, I wish to confirm that I hold no continuing grudges regarding the destruction of what might have been vital experiments.'

_...hold no grudges...hold no grudges._

She could feel her anger rising.

She closed her eyes briefly then continued reading.

'As it was, they were long term experiments which with time may be replicated'

Ok...he was accepting her apology over the experiments...but worded in a typically Sherlockian way.

'In this respect and acknowledging the above comments regarding aforementioned experiments, I would find it most acceptable for you to rescind your banishment and allow me access to my laboratory space with immediate effect.'

_What...what...what the fuck...rescind your banishment...immediate effect..._

Molly looked up at Sherlock.

He was gazing at her intently, obviously waiting for her to say the magic words and let him back into the labs.

_Was he really that dense...no don't answer that..._

Molly turned to the second page of the letter.

'PS, I agree that I will not in future intrude on any potential liaisons that you have arranged. I trust that is to your satisfaction.'

She could feel her anger bubbling to the surface.

Her hands began to shake.

Sherlock was still standing in front of her. Waiting.

"Get OUT." Molly hissed at him through gritted teeth. "Just get the fuck out of my lab..."

Sherlock looked at her in disbelief.

"I have just penned you a letter of apology. You could at least accept it with the good grace that it was sent." He bristled with annoyance.

"Apology!" Molly's voice rose up at least an octave. "This isn't an apology Sherlock...it's a...a...I can't even find words to..." she crumpled it up and threw it at him.

"Molly" Sherlock let his voice drop to his rolling baritone. "Molly calm down."

"Calm down...you arrogant arse. This...this...letter is the biggest insult ever made and you've insulted me enough over the years. It's not an apology Sherlock, it's a whining letter of why you should be let back into the lab."

"Molly..."

"Don't interrupt me, it's condescending and...and patronising...and you even dismiss me in a PS at the bottom of letter as if I was an afterthought...what am I saying, of course I'm an afterthought. That's all I ever am."

"Molly" Sherlock was getting confused.

He'd thought his letter would be accepted with Molly's usual good grace.

Not this spitting fury that was currently standing three feet away from him.

"Don't Molly me...just get out of my lab. I don't want to see your bloody face here ever again. Go and find another pathologist to wrap round your little finger. Because I'm not your pathologist any more...just get out...now."

"Molly, I penned that letter as a genuine apology, I don't know why you find it offensive?"

"Genuine apologies come from the heart Sherlock, and as we all know, me more than most. You don't have one. I would have rather that you had just stuck your head round the door and said 'sorry Molly' than send this self deluded pile of shit. Or just left it at the apology in the car park"

The buzzer sounded.

Molly hit the button to open the door with the flat of her hand.

"Come back later, I'm busy" she barked at the door without looking to see who it was.

It was John Watson.

And he knew he was too late to stop the pooh that had just hit the ventilation unit..._shit._

"Sherlock, what have you done?" John walked towards the pair of them, sensing the hostility in the air.

"John, will you kindly remove this...person from the lab before I call security."

John looked at Molly with a mixture of pride and guilt...the worm had finally turned.

"Sherlock, what have you done?"

"Why do you assume it's me?" Sherlock looked pained at the accusation.

"Because it's always you, you dick." He turned to Molly "What's he done?"

Wordlessly she handed him the letter.

John scanned the words. His eyebrows rising the more he read.

"He sent this to you?"

Molly nodded.

"It's an apology, John, can't you see that?"

"No, Sherlock, this is not an apology. It's a self centred letter of self denial. You just don't send letters like this to people you actually want to speak to again. It's...why can't you just say sorry like every other bugger on the planet?"

Sherlock looked between the two of them, John standing close to Molly with his hand on her arm.

John was right, he really didn't get it. He didn't know what to do.

Should he turn and walk away.

Should he stand his ground and defend himself.

For once in his life Sherlock didn't have a clue what to do.

And it was John who saw it.

Saw that brief flash of panic in Sherlock's eyes.

_Poor sod doesn't have a fucking clue..._

"Molly, I'll take Sherlock home. I'll ring you later?"

Molly nodded.

"Come on Sherlock." John started to walk towards the door.

Sherlock stayed where he was, right in front of Molly.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, Molly saw something she'd never seen there before.

_Doubt...he doesn't know what to do._

"Just go Sherlock."

"Molly, I..."

"Just go..."

He turned to walk away but spun round and walked back to her "I never meant to insult you Molly...never."

And with that he turned and strode past John and out of the lab.

Molly let out a shuddering sign and sat on the end of her desk.

She wanted to cry. All her anger flooded out of her in a rush.

He was such an insufferable man...but that made him who he was...that made him Sherlock.

And she knew she'd never be able to say no to him.

"Are you sure you're ok Molly?"

She nodded.

"You could probably do with a cup of tea, you're looking a bit peaky."

"Yeah, I will, thanks John." She rubbed her hands over her face. "I probably over reacted...but I was just so angry with him. I wanted to slap him."

"You wouldn't be the first and certainly won't be the last to want to do that to him."

Molly managed a small smile.

"Just keep him away for a few days, John, if you can."

"You sure you want to let him back?"

"How can I refuse him...I should have expected that Sherlock's letter of apology would be reverse psychology."

"You're a bigger person than most Molly. Most would have told him to sod off years ago."

"What can you do" she shrugged "after all it's not every day you can say you are the pathologist for the world's only consulting detective. I can't bear grudges John, life's too short for that. I see it every day. People who've left an apology until it's too late."

"He doesn't deserve you Molly." John waved as he left the lab.

_He doesn't want me..._Molly thought sadly as she watched John follow Sherlock down the corridor.

**TBC**


	11. Chapter 11

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**Thanks to Lono, shepweir always, coloradoandcolorado1, Aviatress, magicstrikes and Ssmill for your review of the last chapter. They mean so much!**_

_**Chapter 11**_

Taxi on route to 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock maintained a stoic silence during the entire journey from Bart's back to the flat.

John had had the sense not to intervene and just sat there and mused on the latest disaster to impact on his life via the genius Sherlock Holmes. John hadn't forgotten that brief glimpse of utter panic when Sherlock had realised he was out of his depth in a situation and had no idea how to deal with it. Not without ruining his friendship with Molly Hooper forever.

John realised he felt sorry for the Consulting Detective...World's Only...sitting in silence next to him; watching London drift by.

After what felt like an eternity to both John and Sherlock the taxi pulled up outside 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock maintained his silence has he pounded up the stairs and into the flat.

John wasn't surprised when Sherlock went straight to his bedroom and slammed the door shut with more force than was necessary.

That reminded John that they needed to get the glass replaced in the bathroom door; before Mrs Hudson found out about the damage.

-0-

Bart's Morgue.

Molly was still sitting on the edge of her desk contemplating making the cup of tea that John had suggested.

But even walking to the kettle was too much of an effort at this point.

_She'd sent Sherlock away...I've sent him away...oh God...oh God...oh God..._

Her breathing was shallow and she felt that if she stood she might just keel over.

_Sugar...I need sugar...I'm in shock...shock...sugar...tea..._

She mentally tried to pull herself together but all she could see in her mind was that look of doubt and confusion that she had seen on Sherlock's face. And she had still made him leave.

_Oh God...what have I done...he doesn't do usual things...his letter was...oh God...he apologised...Molly you utter fool...why didn't you just say thank you..._

Molly rubbed her eyes; trying to stop the tears that were again threatening to flow.

Sherlock in his own unique way had managed to balls up something as simple as an apology. And she, Molly Hooper, having known him long enough, should have cut him enough slack to realise that the appallingly composed letter was his version of a heartfelt apology. After all, he had forgiven her for the experiments.

_But I'm always cutting him slack and apologising for him...but he...he meant it...oh God...what am I going to do?_

Molly looked at the clock; it was nearly four o'clock.

_Sod it...I'm going home._

She pulled off her lab coat and draped it over the back of her chair, then grabbed her bag and hurried out onto the pavement. She breathed in deeply, enjoying the fumes of the street as it wiped away the smell of the morgue and dissipated the memories of Sherlock.

-0-

Molly's Flat.

For the first time in an age, Molly took a critical look at her flat as she walked up the garden path to the communal front door. After she'd pushed past the bicycle in the hallway that belonged to Steve who lived on the ground floor and picked up her post from the shelf she was contemplating moving.

It was little better than student digs and she had in fact lived there since her first month at St Bart's. But now with a good salary and some savings..._and no life..._her mind added. She could afford to move.

_A project...that's what I need. _She thought has she slapped a 'sad bastard meal for one' in the microwave and then poured a glass of indifferent white wine that had been on offer in Tesco.

_My life is shit..no...my personal life is shit...I need to do something...go out...get laid...before I might as well join a convent...I need a new life...a Sherlock free life._

She smiled.

A new flat, in a new area, she might meet new men.

And if she didn't give Sherlock her mobile number then he might not find her..._fat chance..._her mind added again.

She smiled; tomorrow was Saturday and she had the day off. Time to have a look round some local Estate Agents.

As she waited for her meal to cook she saw her laptop..._why wait until tomorrow, I can look at property on line now._

Four hours and one empty bottle of wine later; Molly had narrowed her potential new flat search area to Hampstead, Islington, Tufnell Green and Crouch End. All had flats available in her price range and she had selected a choice of period and modern properties. Molly smiled...she was taking charge of her life...and she liked it.

-0-

221B Baker Street.

John pottered round the flat; washing the dishes and trying to remove another dubious stain from the kitchen table. He contemplated knocking on Sherlock's door but decided that discretion was the better part of valour and didn't.

Two cups of tea and half a packet of chocolate digestive's later, Sherlock emerged.

He looked rumpled; as if he'd thrown himself on the bed and then tossed and turned burning with frustration and anger.

"Why?" Sherlock spat out the word as he collapsed into a tangle of long limbs on his chair.

"Why what? Sherlock?"

"Why...why did Molly..." he tailed off, unable to vocalise his confusion.

"Why did Molly have a dicky fit at your letter?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Did you actually read it? I mean after you had written it, did you stop and read it?"

"I didn't need to; I know exactly what I'd written." he huffed defensively.

"Sherlock..." John felt that sometimes he was explaining things to a petulant four year old "Ok, I understand that you don't do feelings and sentiment; but Molly has done so much for you over the years and you really do treat her like shit."

Sherlock looked at him.

The blinked.

And looked at him again.

"Do I?"

John was about to launch into a tirade but then he saw the look on his face.

"Oh for fuck's sake Sherlock. Yes, you do. Look, I know you don't mean it and you'd be lost without her. Maybe it was a good thing all this happened."

"What? Loose all my experiments?" Sherlock was getting angry at John.

"No, not exactly. But this whole thing of how you treat her, Sherlock, It's not good. She lets you get away with murder in that lab and you treat her like your lab assistant. It's not right. You need to appreciate that if she didn't like you then you'd have been out on your arse years ago." John sat back and looked over at Sherlock, waiting for an outburst of denial.

Sherlock looked over at him.

There was something in his face that John couldn't read.

"Does she still like me, John?"

John opened his mouth to speak. But he couldn't think of a single thing to say. Off all the things that he would have expected Sherlock to say; never in a million years would he have guessed that.

"You said she didn't like me anymore." Sherlock looked like a small child on being told that Father Christmas wasn't real.

John coughed; never had he seen such emotion on Sherlock's face. "Course she likes you. You tit. You've just pissed her off, give her a few days and things will be right as rain. You'll see. Now how about a cup of tea and a biscuit?"

Sherlock smiled; that rare smile that lit up his face and made his eyes glitter like crystal. "Thank you John, that would be most welcome."

-0-

Molly's Flat – the Following Morning.

Molly was up bright and early; despite a slight hangover from the wine.

She had a stack of printouts for flats that she wanted to visit and she had decided that she was going to go out for her birthday.

She usually ignored her birthday; and kept a low profile in the lab on that particular day; but no, this was the new Molly and she was planning on going out and she was going to have party.

Of sorts,

In a pub.

With friends.

She would send out the texts that afternoon.

*Hi John, having a birthday drinkies at the Blind Beggar pub by Bart's on the 15th, will you come. Please ask Mrs Hudson. Molly xx*

*Hi Greg, sorry to bother you but if you aren't on duty on the 15th I'm having a birthday drink at the Blind Beggar pub by Bart's and you are more than welcome. Molly x*

*Hi Mike drinkies at the pub on the 15th...you owe me a large white wine. Luv Molly xx*

She smiled as she sent the last of the texts; there were a few other people in Bart's she might also ask.

Her phone beeped.

*Hi Molly, would love to be there. Will ask Mrs H this afternoon. What about SH? John x*

Molly read the text twice.

What about Sherlock, indeed.

She bit her lip.

Then sent a text.

*Hi John, would prefer SH not to be there; not because of yesterday, but he'd just be a party pooper. You know he hates them. Molly xx*

She had a reply almost immediately.

*Totally understand, John xx"

Through the course of the day both Greg and Mike accepted her invitation for her birthday night out.

Molly smiled...

_...new flat...new Molly...new flat...new Molly..._she mentally chanted as she walked towards the tube station.

**TBC**


	12. Chapter 12

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**A huge thank you to all of you who have left a review, I have tried to reply to you all! Many millions of apologies if I've missed you...it's not intentional as I appreciate every single one of them.**_

_**Right then on to Chapter 12 – this is longer than all the others but I wanted this to be all one chapter and not split over two.**_

**Chapter 12**

Just over two weeks had passed with Sherlock making occasional visits to the lab, always accompanied by John and on two occasions by Greg.

Sherlock was polite.

Molly was equally polite in return.

John sat and watched it like an ongoing tennis match.

Greg looked tired and lost in thought.

No one mentioned the lost experiments, the ruined date or the letter of 'apology'.

It was as if they were new acquaintances and were dancing round each other.

Sherlock had solved four cases for Lestrade.

Molly was busy as it was the 'silly' season. The weeks approaching Christmas always seemed to be the busiest. Molly understood why. They were lonely.

Molly was lonely too. That's why she was changing her life.

Her offer of a flat in Hampstead had been accepted. It was a large airy top floor flat in a big Victorian house, overlooking the local playing fields.

Molly was moving on.

-0-

The day of the Birthday Party - 15th December .

Molly marked time for the entire day, she couldn't wait to finish her shift and get back to her flat to change. She was going to enjoy herself tonight. There was only going to be friends there. She could let her hair down.

She could start to be the new Molly.

The Molly she wanted and deserved to be.

By the time she got home she was bouncing with anticipation.

_For God's sake Molly you are not a child...it's just a few drinks with friends..._

But she couldn't help the little flutter of excitement at the prospect of some harmless flirting with John and Greg.

A few days earlier she had thought about wearing the black dress she had worn to the disastrous Christmas party at Sherlock's but then decided against it. It brought back too many painful memories and despite its cost it went in the bag that was heading for the charity shop. Instead she had gone shopping and bought a pair of skin tight black jeans, black high heeled boots and a flirty lilac chiffon top that was just the right side of sexy without making her self-conscious.

It was in this outfit she dressed as she listened to Capital Radio and bopped about her room getting ready.

_I'm acting like a bloody teenager...oh sod it...I don't care..._

She poured herself a glass of wine to sip as she waited to leave.

She didn't want to get there too early and look sad.

By 7.30pm she couldn't keep waiting any longer and made her way back towards Bart's and the pub round the corner.

-0-

221B Baker Street.

"Right I'm off then." John pulled on his jacket.

"Another boring date, John?" Sherlock lay on the sofa, regardless of the fact that he was creasing his best suit jacket. "It's getting perilously close to Christmas, John. Are you going to waste money on trinkets for another fleeting girlfriend?"

"Shut up Sherlock, and try not to upset, annoy or kill anyone before I get back." As an afterthought he turned round "and don't burn the place down either. I'll be back before midnight...probably. Right? Ring me if you need to..."

"John, I am perfectly capable of spending an evening on my own without any resulting catastrophe. I did manage to survive for thirty five years before you trundled into my life." He waved a long white hand dismissively.

"And no smoking."

Sherlock just huffed and turned his back on John.

John just sighed and left Sherlock to his own devices.

Mrs Hudson was waiting by the door and the taxi that she had ordered was waiting outside.

-0-

Neither John or Mrs Hudson spotted Sherlock watching them enter the taxi from the window of 221B Baker Street.

He was already wearing his coat and his scarf was in his hand.

He was skilled enough to lip read John's directions to the taxi driver.

_The Blind Beggar Pub._

Sherlock paused for a moment.

_...Why would John and Mrs Hudson be going to a pub across London..._

Intrigued, he pulled his scarf round his neck and bounded out of 221B and into the street.

-0-

The Blind Beggar Pub.

By the time Molly got there, she already hated her new boots and wished she'd got a taxi instead.

But it was too late now.

A glass of wine or three would ease the pain.

She hoped.

The old Molly asserted herself as she peered round the door to see if any of her friends were already there.

_...oh stop it...just walk in...it's a pub...not Sherlock's bedroom..._

She giggled at that thought.

And it was at that moment that John looked over and saw Molly at the door. And his jaw dropped.

Molly was looking good.

Stunning in fact.

John raised his arm and waved at her.

_...Greg isn't going to be able to keep his hands off her..._ was John's immediate thought.

John stood and kissed Molly on the cheek. "You look gorgeous!" he gave her a quick squeeze to emphasise his point.

Mrs Hudson gave her a hug "You do look lovely, dear. Pity Sherlock isn't here to see you. He's a silly boy. He doesn't know what's good for him."

John cast a look at Molly, but she didn't seem to be bothered by Mrs Hudson's comment about Sherlock.

"What would you ladies like to drink?" John ever the gentleman would never allow a lady to buy her own drink. Even in the days when he didn't have much money.

"Oh, a glass of white wine, please John."

"A small sherry, dear, thank you."

Molly sat next to Mrs Hudson and asked about her hip. It was the usual start to the conversation before it veered off to the subject of the difficulty of getting her 'herbal soothers' and the 'married ones' next door. Molly adored Mrs Hudson and looked on her as a sort of surrogate grandmother. She knew that Mrs Hudson harboured a long held desire that she and Sherlock would finally get together. But tonight she was going to tell Mrs Hudson that wasn't going to happen.

This Molly was moving on.

By the time John arrived back from the bar, Mike Stamford was hanging up his coat.

"Pint of Old Speckled Hen for me John, as you are getting them in." Mike shouted across the room.

"Haven't changed have you Mike, short arms and long pockets." He grinned as he added Mike's drink to the order.

Before the drinks were even poured Greg arrived looking harassed.

"Pint of anything for me, John, preferably whiskey!" Greg slumped down on the seat next to Molly. "God what a day, I'm really glad you invited me Molly. I needed a night out with friends."

"Things still bad at home?" Molly touched his arm softly.

"Yeah, it's over. She's finally gone. Sherlock was right, it was the gym teacher." He rubbed his hands over his face "spent most of this afternoon at the solicitors sorting stuff out. Anyway, enough of my crap, Happy Birthday Molly." He leant over and kissed her cheek.

"Happy Birthday Molls" Mike pushed Greg out of the way to kiss her other cheek.

The drink began to flow and everyone relaxed. It was Friday night; there were Christmas revellers singing out of tune carols and twinkling fairy lights decorating the pub.

-0-

Outside the Blind Beggar Pub

Sherlock stood in the shadows and watched the pub.

He'd seen John and Mrs Hudson enter but no one else that he recognised.

It was only after another hour and a half when he'd decided to give up and go home and question John relentlessly the following day that he realised that there was another entrance to the pub round the corner.

_...Shit..._

Now he had to decide his next course of action.

A group of revellers was heading towards the door. He joined the tail end of the group and followed them into the gloomy depths of the pub.

-0-

The happy group settled down to their drinks and soon stories...mainly involving the one person who wasn't there...started. Everyone was trying to outdo each other with a Sherlock story.

Everyone had a tale of just how annoying and clever and foolish he could be.

The stories came to a halt abruptly when Greg asked "Well why isn't the miserable bugger himself here? I know he doesn't like parties but..."

Everyone looked at Molly "I didn't invite him."

Greg did a double take "You didn't invite him...but I thought...you...you know..."

"I did...do...but we had an argument a while back and we're sort of not...well...close...not that we were close before, but well..." she shrugged "it's difficult to explain...I got cross with him."

"And she stood up to him and told him a few home truths" John butted in.

"Well, I think that calls for a celebration. Molly you finally stood your ground. Champagne anyone?"

"Greg? That's a bit over the top." Molly tried to stop him.

"A birthday and Sherlock being Sherlocked...definitely champagne time."

"And then it's present time" Mrs Hudson placed a prettily wrapped present on the table.

-0-

Sherlock was standing to the side of the bar in a shadowed corner.

He could see the back of John's head.

He moved slowly round to the other side of the pillar.

-0-

Greg held two bottles of champagne in his hands and Mike was carrying the glasses.

-0-

Sherlock spotted Greg straight away.

_What is Lestrade doing here...champagne...not for his wife...not after today...John.._.he moved further round the bar, hiding behind people..._Mrs Hudson!...Mike Stamford...and...move Lestrade...move._

He shifted impatiently to see who Greg was leaning over.

He started in surprise.

_Molly..._

-0-

"Happy Birthday dear Molly Happy Birthday to yooou!" everyone raised their glasses and toasted Molly.

-0-

Molly kissed Greg briefly on the cheek; she liked the man but she didn't want to encourage him too much or start the new phase of her life as a rebound romance for the policeman.

A pile of presents and wrapping paper littered the table.

A little folding mirror from Mrs Hudson.

A leather diary from Mike.

A leather oyster card holder from John.

A black and silver pen from Greg.

A shadow loomed over the table and the entire party turned to look.

John was more surprised than most.

It was Mycroft Holmes.

Holding a beautifully wrapped gift.

"Good evening, Dr Hooper. Many Happy Returns of the day. A small token of gratitude from the Holmes family as no doubt my bother will have neglected to wish you any felicitations due to your current impasse."

Molly sat there open mouthed.

"Umm...thank you...Mr Holmes..." she took the present.

Mycroft inclined his head and left.

"Well that was interesting" John watched Mycroft cleave his way through the crowd as if he was parting the Red Sea.

"What did he buy you dear?"

Molly looked at the gorgeous purple paper and reluctantly tore it open. Inside was an antique silver photo frame. Elaborately decorated and exquisite. Molly gasped.

"There's a note, dear, what does it say?"

Molly turned the card over and read in Mycroft's elegant pen "For your new Mantelpiece"

_...how does he...never mind...of course he knows...he IS the British Government._

"Oh isn't that nice of him." Mrs Hudson exclaimed.

John, Mike and Greg just looked on in surprise.

-0-

Sherlock stood in the shadows and watched as everyone he considered to be a friend sat around a table and drank champagne and toasted Molly Hooper's Birthday.

A party that he hadn't been invited to.

Once he would have been invited; he would have scoffed at the idea, but he would have gone.

But this time he hadn't even been invited.

And it hurt.

In a place that he didn't think he had...his heart...there was a strange pull there.

Hurt.

Not anger.

He realised that he hadn't been invited because they didn't want him there.

_No...Molly doesn't want you here..._

And that hurt most of all.

It was like when he was a child and he'd never been invited to his classmates birthday parties.

He shivered despite the heat of the room.

He needed to get out; he needed 221B Baker Street.

But his feet wouldn't move.

He couldn't drag himself away from the sight of Molly; looking slightly tipsy but radiant and...grown up.

He watched as she stood up to kiss Greg to thank him for his present.

Sherlock briefly noted Molly's stunning legs before it was blotted out by the white light of anger and jealously targeted firmly at Lestrade.

Then the utter shock of Mycroft's appearance.

_They don't want me here...they...Molly doesn't want me here..._

But at this moment he didn't want to be anywhere else.

Because for the first time he saw Molly Hooper.

**TBC**


	13. Chapter 13

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**A huge thank you to all of you who have left a review: Ssmill; magicstrikes, DragonRose24, Lono, patemalah2, Aviatress, shepweir always, coloradoandcolorado1, Pipkin in the Grass, Lady Nuit and SpencerReidFan89...**_

_**This is a bit of a transitional chapter to move things forward a bit...**_

**Chapter 13**

221B Baker Street

When John finally emerged, rumpled and hungover, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

There was no note.

John was slightly relieved to be able to remedy his hangover without the supposed 'wit' of his flatmate's comments regarding his acrobatic entrance into the flat the previous night.

John had remembered it had taken multiple attempts to open the door and then the stairs had miraculously turned into an escalator...moving downwards. And then had tried to get through the door while simultaneously trying to remove both his jacket and his shoes.

Something nagged at the back of John's throbbing head.

He couldn't remember seeing Sherlock.

And Sherlock never neglected to take amusement from John's drunken antics.

He usually sat on his chair and gave a running commentary on what John was trying to do and what he should really be doing.

The he would leave a glass of water and two aspirin on his bedside table.

He didn't remember seeing them there this morning.

He gingerly moved towards Sherlock's bedroom and stood outside the door. Trying to get his brain to function and answer the question as to whether he should knock on the door.

He did.

No reply.

He pushed the door open.

Sherlock's bed had not been slept in.

A slight edge of panic began to seep into John's brain; adrenaline fading out the after effects of the alcohol.

..._where is he...where is the stupid sod...phone...where's my phone..._

John eventually located his phone under the grill.

_...at least that answers why there was a slice of bread in my jeans pocket..._

John sent a text to Sherlock.

Almost immediately his phone beeped.

..._at least the sod's answering his phone..._

*Message Undeliverable*

John read the message; then read it again.

Sherlock never switched off his phone.

Never let the battery run down.

He re-sent his text and immediately the reply came back.

*Message Undeliverable*

All remnants of John's hangover disappeared in a flash. The soldier in him sprang into action. He fired off texts in all directions to everyone he could think of.

*Greg, have you seen Sherlock today? John Watson.*

*Molly, any sign of Sherlock. He's not answering his phone. John*

*Mike, can you check the lab to see if Sherlock is there, sod's not answering his phone. John*

In order to have something to do, John made a pot of tea, but even after pouring it, it sat ignored as he drummed his fingers on the kitchen table waiting for replies.

As he waited he glanced round the flat, looking for any signs that something was wrong when Sherlock left.

His coat and scarf were gone, which indicated that he had left the flat voluntarily. His violin was in it's case. The curtains were open...

_...so either he left early or...or...he left last night..._

The memory of the unmade bed made John think that Sherlock had probably left the flat the previous evening.

_...but where would he go...Greg was with us...no access to the lab without Mike or Molly being there...Government emergency?...Mycroft..._

Just has he was about to text Mycroft his phone beeped twice in succession and then again when he went to pick it up.

He noticed that his hand was shaking; was it his subconscious mind telling him that Sherlock was in trouble.

He opened each message in turn.

*John, just ring Bart's Sherlock's not there. Is there a problem? Molly x*

*John, Just been down lab, no one's seen SH since Thursday. Mike. PS hope your head hurts as much as mine!*

*John, what's the stupid sod done now? I'll ring the station and see if anyone's heard anything from him. Greg. PS what were we drinking last night?*

There was only one person who might know the whereabouts of Sherlock.

Mycroft Holmes.

John was just about to dial Mycroft's number when a discreet cough made him swing round.

"Speak of the devil" John muttered under his breath.

"Indeed, Dr Watson. Shall we sit?"

He walked into the living room and sat on Sherlock's chair.

"Please Dr Watson, I don't have a great deal of time. A small matter of international importance awaits me back at Whitehall. But I gather you are concerned about my brother's whereabouts?"

John sat opposite Mycroft "Yes, I am. Where is he?" his hands gripped the arms of his chair.

Mycroft tapped his fingers against his lips. "Do you know where my brother spent yesterday evening?"

"Well, here...but now I'm thinking probably not..."

"Precisely, not to put too fine a point on it Dr Watson. He followed you and Mrs Hudson."

John looked at Mycroft "Why?"

"He watched you and Mrs Hudson leave and Sherlock being Sherlock, saw it as a mystery and followed you."

"To the pub?"

"Indeed."

"Oh God" John realised the implications immediately. Sherlock didn't like parties but it didn't mean that he would want to be left out. Not by people he considered friends. "He saw us all there?"

"Yes, he watched you for quite some time. He was standing behind a pillar watching your table. Watching Dr Hooper in particular."

"How did you know he was there?"

"I saw him the moment I entered the establishment. The issue now, Dr Watson, is what we do now."

"What do you mean?"

"Sherlock arrived at the family home at midnight last night, intoxicated to the point of collapse. I have no idea what has triggered this latest bout of alcoholic abuse; but when I left him this morning he was already on the brandy."

"Sherlock doesn't drink, he says it stops him functioning." John frowned.

"Sherlock is trying to block something out and I need you to find out what it is before..."

"Before what?"

"Before he substitutes alcohol with other substances...if you get my drift?"

"Shit...he wouldn't; would he?"

"I have a car waiting for you outside to take you to Sherlock; you'll need to pack for a few days." Mycroft stood. "I have done my best for Sherlock, but I believe you will be able to help him through this...issue. I'll be off then, the car is waiting outside. I will expect regular updates, Dr Watson." He nodded and left the room swinging his umbrella casually in one hand.

John watched Mycroft's retreating back.

_...shit...the bloody party...why did the stupid sod have to follow me...oh for fuck's sake Sherlock...it was only to punish you for being a dick..._

John ran his fingers through his hair; and went to pack.

-0-

The Holmes' Family Estate – Surrey Coast.

Sherlock was lying on the sofa.

One arm covering his eyes from the nagging daylight.

The other clutching an empty bottle of brandy.

He'd locked the library door and shouted at any staff who had tried to enter.

'Mummy' Holmes was currently in their family villa in the South of France so was in no danger from her son's latest escapade.

Sherlock rarely swore.

Except when he was drunk.

_...fucking bastards...party...no invite...why...why didn't invite me...Molly loves me...John loves me...Mrs Hudson loves me..._

He burped and winced at the sour taste of regurgitated brandy.

_...maybe they only pretend...like I used too...friends always hurt in end...Molly...she no love me more..._

The bottle slid from his fingers as he passed out.

When John arrived a few hours later, he was ushered into the Study by the Butler and handed an envelope and a set of keys.

"I believe that you are now in charge of the house until such a time as his Lordship returns. You are to have complete access and cooperation from all staff. Dr Watson. " He bowed in deference.

John was still having trouble getting his mind round the Holmes' family estate without the added staff and now "His Lordship?"

"The elder Holmes Brother is a peer of the realm. The younger Holmes holds the honorary title of Viscount Cumberfield."

John shook his head; the hangover was beginning to make a comeback.

"Right, fine..."

"Shall I show you to your rooms, sir?"

"Lead on"

Half an hour later John was standing in front of the locked library door with the relevant key poised to unlock the door.

He took a deep breath, turned the lock and opened the door.

His first sight was to see Sherlock holding grimly onto a flower pot and being violently sick.

**TBC**


	14. Chapter 14

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**A huge thank you to all of you who have left a review: Ssmill; magicstrikes, DragonRose24, Lono, patemalah2, Aviatress, shepweir always, coloradoandcolorado1, Pipkin in the Grass, Lady Nuit and SpencerReidFan89, flabbygeek, Empress of Verace, VaticanCameos123, IvPayne...you make my day!**_

_**So onto the aftermath...**_

**Chapter 14**

_17 Seconds Later._

"Piss Off!" Sherlock didn't raise his eyes.

John stood at the door watching his flatmate cling onto the flower pot.

"For Christ's sake, Sherlock! What..."

"I told you to piss off." He waved a hand limply in John's direction.

"How much have you had to drink?" John was sliding into medical mode.

"None of your fucking business."

"Sherlock, you are my friend and I am..."

"I don't have any fucking friends. Not after..." he began retching into the pot.

John waited patiently until Sherlock had finished.

He took this time to examine his friend.

Skin an unhealthy grey with sweat gathered round the hair line. Eyes bloodshot and pupils dilated. Hands shaking.

Sherlock set the flower pot down and collapsed back against the sofa.

Eyes closed.

"So are you going to tell me what all this is about?" John moved further into the room.

"Are you deaf as well as fucking stupid" Sherlock hissed "It's none of your business. So once again I'll ask you to kindly piss off."

John was amazed that anyone as sick as Sherlock could string two words together let alone sentences of vitriol.

"Ok" John decided on another tack and the army doctor was suddenly in place "on a purely medical ground, how much have you drunk? Have you taken any pharmacological substances?"

There was no reply.

"You'll need to rehydrate, I'll get some water." He turned towards the door.

"Don't come back, I am perfectly capable of managing a hangover on my own. Thank you." The final words were spat out.

"Sherlock, this is more than a hangover, you probably have alcoholic poisoning. And as I am a doctor and your friend I am not going to leave you alone, until I know you are ok."

"I don't need you as a doctor or a friend. Don't you think I've survived for long enough without both."

John realised it was the second time Sherlock had mentioned friends...his mind flitted back to the night in the hotel at Baskerville..._I don't have friends..._it had taken John a while to convince Sherlock that he was one and so were the others. They didn't expect anything from him, they were just friends. A concept that Sherlock had never really understood.

"Right, I'm going to get some tea and then we'll talk."

"I have no intention of wasting valuable drinking time talking to you."

"Sherlock, I will confiscate every bottle of alcohol in this house if I have to."

"I'd like to see you try."

"You will see me try Sherlock."

"You and who's army?"

"Don't be so childish Sherlock..." John rubbed his face.

Sherlock jumped to his feet, covering the ground between them in seconds. " .NOT. ."

Seconds later his knees gave way and he hit the floor with a resounding thud.

John looked at the prone figure of his friend and thought..._well at least he's not drinking..._

-0-

With the help of the Butler, John managed to clean Sherlock and the room up and lay him back on the sofa with a jug of water and some aspirin by his side.

He guessed that Sherlock would be out for some time; so he decided to have a mosey on round the Holmes' mansion.

He'd been stationed in stately homes while in the army but some of the antiquities here were worthy of a museum. Huge portraits hung on the walls, and on the second landing John noticed a painting of someone in Regency clothing that was Sherlock's double.

He wondered why Sherlock had ever wanted or needed a flatmate; he obviously didn't need the money to pay the rent. And John acknowledged, most of the time Sherlock preferred to be alone. It was only when he was on a case or bored that he turned to John. Maybe Sherlock was right, he didn't have friends...he didn't want them...people were friends _with_ Sherlock, not the other way round.

Unfortunately, John didn't realise how wrong he was.

-0-

Sherlock woke a few hours later with shadows filling the room and a sense of the world being off kilter.

He spotted the water and aspirin; took two and rolled back over on the sofa and curled into a ball.

-0-

When he woke again, there was a fire in the grate and John was sitting by it with a cup of tea and a newspaper.

John heard Sherlock wake, but made no move to address him.

"What are YOU still doing here?"

"Being a friend and your doctor. I try not to lose too many patients."

"Do you pay no attention to me? I told you I don't have friends..."

"Yes you do, there's me, Mrs Hudson and..."

"Spare me your sentiment, Dr Watson."

John carried on "Greg and Mike consider you a friend and so does Molly despite everything."

"They might consider me a friend, but I do not reciprocate the feeling."

"Bollocks!"

"What?"

John could hear Sherlock move towards him.

He sat opposite him and John was again reminded of Baskerville. That night he had doubted himself. What had happened last night to make Sherlock doubt himself again?

Sherlock's face appeared chequered like a Harlequin in the fire light as he sat down.

John noticed that although his appearance was better his hands were still shaking.

"I said bollocks...and I know you're not deaf. So let's cut the crap Sherlock and tell me what happened last night?"

Sherlock looked at him through the corner of his eyes.

"How do you know it was last night?"

"I do live with you, I've watched you deduce things...I did some deducing myself. You left the flat voluntarily, last night and this morning I have a visit from your brother telling me that you had arrived here at midnight out of your skull and then I'm whisked away and end up here."

"Pft, I should have guessed Mycroft's name would appear somewhere."

"So, what happened?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me Sherlock."

"I have no intention of telling you what triggered my lapse into alcohol."

"I'm not moving till you tell me"

"You'll be sitting there a very long time, John."

"Fine by me."

Silence descended on the pair of them.

A clock struck seven.

A knock on the door and the Butler appeared.

"Dinner is served, Sir, Dr Watson."

"Thanks."

John stood "Are you eating? You should."

"I ate yesterday."

"And have thrown most of that up, your stomach acids are working on nothing Sherlock, you need to eat."

"Stop fussing, you're getting as bad as Mrs Hudson."

"That's because we care."

"Caring is a sentiment..."

"Yes yes...found in the losing side..." John sighed and walked towards the door.

"And I lost John." Sherlock whispered.

John swung around. "What did you say?"

"I didn't say a word."

John marched back towards Sherlock "Yes you did, I heard you."

"Then why are you asking me." Sherlock refused to look at John.

John sat opposite Sherlock.

"What happened last night?"

Sherlock closed his eyes.

His bottom lip trembled. He bit it to stop it.

"You were there John, you were there."

"What? I don't...oh...the party? Sherlock are you telling me that you are like this because of a party?"

Sherlock remained silent.

John watched his face, looking for any clues.

Then it hit him.

"It's because you weren't invited, isn't it?" John sat back; all thoughts of food forgotten.

Sherlock nodded. "I thought friends were supposed to invite each other to events. Not leave some out. Deliberately."

John leant forward "Sherlock, the only reason you weren't invited was because of the argument between you and Molly."

"No it wasn't. It was because Molly didn't want me there."

John had no answer to that.

Silence hung between them.

Finally Sherlock spoke again. "Do you have any idea what it was like to watch you? All happy and and..." he tailed off.

"Sherlock I'm sure that if Molly had realised how upset you are she would have invited you. She didn't because you don't like parties and at the moment you aren't on the best of terms."

"So it was a case of out of sight and out of mind." Sherlock snarled.

In an instance John realised that emotionally Sherlock was still a teenager; when these things mattered more than life or death. He'd let these people into his life and they had shut him out.

John shook his head. "You stupid sod. Do you know what we talked about for most of the evening?"

"Please tell me just how I would know that John?"

"We talked about you, you tit. The entire bloody evening revolved about things you've said or done. So you might not have been there, but you were the main topic of the bloody evening."

"Me?"

"Yes...and I can tell you now that if Molly had any idea what would happen when she didn't invite you, she would be devastated. She thinks the world of you Sherlock." He hazarded a joke "not that I can understand that, but she does. She might not like you very much at the moment, but give her a few days and she'll be fine."

"You talked about me?"

"Yes, look Sherlock to be honest, we all missed you being there. It wasn't the same without your scathing criticism of the entire population of the pub."

"Molly..."

"What about Molly?" John realised they were getting to the nub of the issue.

"She...I...I don't know John...I..."

"Sherlock, do you like Molly?"

"Yes." He was gazing deeply into the fire.

"As a friend?"

Pause.

"Yes."

"A colleague?"

"Yes."

"Do you like her more than that?"

A longer pause.

"Sherlock?"

"When I saw her last night, I saw her for the first time John. I didn't see the person I assumed she was. I saw Molly...and I couldn't look away."

"Well, that's good Sherlock." John was amazed at Sherlock being so frank about something as personal as this.

"I don't know what to do John. I've never..." he rubbed his hands over his face. "I...am unused to such feelings." He swallowed "I don't do sentiment John...I don't..."

"What do you want to do Sherlock?" John realised he might have to guide Sherlock a lot.

"I don't know."

"Do you want to get to know Molly better?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Outside the lab?"

"Yes." It was barely a whisper.

"Sherlock, have you ever been in a relationship?"

"No."

**TBC**


	15. Chapter 15

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**A huge thank you to all of you who have left a review...I adore you all, they mean so much and spur me on to write more!**_

_**To those of you who thought that Sherlock capitulated to easily...I based it on the fact that he's still hungover to his backteeth and is admitting things that he would never admit while fully functioning.**_

**Chapter 15**

John looked over at Sherlock; that one word had confirmed everything that he'd assumed about his flatmate and his dealings with the female sex.

He pondered just how he was going to manoeuvre this conversation, to allow Sherlock to get some much needed advice but without him getting insulted and never speaking to him again.

..._family...maybe that could be a point of reference..._

"What about your parents, Sherlock? Are they still together?"

"Pft, they were never together, even when they were."

John looked confused.

Sherlock sighed "My parents had what could be described as an arranged marriage; she was from the same social background as my father, she knew the ropes of running an estate. She gave my father an heir and a spare." He pointed to himself "then she turned her attention to her horses and left mine and Mycroft's upbringing to a string of nannies and then boarding school. All maternal affection was lavished on horses and the garden. My father decamped to the South of France the moment he could and has lived there ever since. I haven't seen him since I was seventeen."

All this information made so much sense to John; Sherlock's sense of abandonment, of refusing to allow people to get close to him.

"The butler called Mycroft, his Lordship?"

"Yes, another one of my father's gifts to us; he renounced the title when Mycroft was 21."

"Is Mycroft married?"

Sherlock snorted.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Yes, he's married to a woman who is the epitome of Country Life, all twinsets and pearls. They have provided the necessary Heir, but no spare."

John was quiet.

Sherlock looked at him though lidded eyes.

"Yes, you are correct in your assumption; Mycroft is homosexual. He married for duty...and his country. He has a flat in London that he shares with Jeremy, who is a banker in the City. His wife and child live here, when they aren't in Chamonix or St Moritz or travelling round the world spending the family inheritance."

John wondered whether Sherlock would have been quite so loquacious had he been sober; he didn't think so and he wondered what the repercussions of this conversation would be over the coming days and weeks.

"So as you can see, my family life has given me no guidelines on how to function as part of a couple, and honestly after seeing the damage my parents did to each other and to Mycroft and myself, I have up until this point had no desire to travel that route."

"So what changed your mind?" John decided that as Sherlock was in the mood for answering questions he would plough on.

"I have no idea...no that's not true." He stopped and looked deeply into the fire.

John remained silent.

"After Moriarty, when Molly helped me, I began to see her in a different light. I couldn't classify this new direction, so I filed it away. At first it was easy to ignore, but lately... I believe it is what is called sentiment. I was experiencing a desire...to...acknowledge her assistance. But from what I can gather I did not go about it in the usual manner expected. And for that I regret any hurt I may have caused."

John rubbed his eyes.

"Sherlock..."

"Yes?"

"You could have just told Molly that you appreciated all that she'd done for you."

Sherlock remained silent.

John continued "You didn't have to send her hearts and flowers Sherlock, a simple thank you and a genuine smile would mean far more to Molly than anything else."

Sherlock looked into the fire.

Fingers steepled under his chin.

"When I asked you did you want to get to know Molly better, I meant..."

"I know what you meant John, I might not have experienced it but I do understand the theory."

John sighed, trust Sherlock to mention the word 'theory' "Sherlock, are you...considering..."_...shit... "_would you like to consider something more...personal with Molly?"

Sherlock closed his eyes.

"Sherlock?"

"I don't know what to do, or even where to start."

"The first part is acknowledging that you are human and that you have feelings. I don't mean for you to go jumping into anything head first, but just start by accepting these feelings. Ask Molly for a coffee, talk to her about things other than morgue related. Sherlock?...Sherlock?"

A soft snore came from the detective's direction.

..._shit..._

-0-

The Following Morning.

John was already on his second piece of toast when Sherlock entered the Breakfast Room.

The butler silently poured the coffee and left the room.

Sherlock made no move to help himself to the food.

"Morning" John muttered though his tea and toast.

"Umph" Sherlock slouched down in his seat and proceeded to ignore John.

"How are we this morning? Bright and breezy?"

"I would appreciate it If you would kindly cease this incessant chatter and let me die in peace."

..._ah right playing it like that are we...pretending we don't remember a thing..._

"You aren't dying Sherlock you have the remnants of a hangover, a monstrous one, but still just a hangover."

John wondered just how much of last night's conversation Sherlock would admit to.

"So, Molly Hooper? How are we feeling about that?"

Sherlock gave him a looked that would have felled an oak tree.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, John." Sherlock pointedly did not look at John.

"Don't give me that shit, Sherlock. I know you remember every word from last night."

"Your sentimental attachment to romantic entanglements do not interest me. I am married to my work. You of all people should know that my commitment to my work out weighs all other considerations."

John put down his cup "That's bollocks Sherlock and we both know the truth, because last night you admitted that you had feelings for Molly."

Sherlock opened his mouth to respond but John cut him off.

"I don't care if you sit there until you are blue in the face, but you can't take back what you said last night. You like Molly Hooper and you admitted that you wanted to get to know her better. Now you do something about it while you can, because one day soon Molly is going to meet someone and he won't have all the hang-ups that you do. And then it will be too late...and you'll be sitting there in 221B Baker Street on your own."

Sherlock stood and flung the napkin on his lap onto the table.

"As you found your own way down here, I suggest you do the same to return to London." The door slammed behind him and a small chunk of plaster from the ceiling landed in John's tea.

John pulled out his phone and dialled Mycroft's number.

"Yes, It's John Watson, yes...Not good, no...you were right it was about the party...yes, yes and Molly...No he's gone off in a huff...yes...right, by the way is there a train station nearby? Oh, thanks, it's on the way?...no I don't think Sherlock will be with me...right...yes, I'll keep you up to date."

Sherlock watched John walk towards the car that Mycroft had sent.

He knew John was right.

But he had no idea on how to proceed.

And Sherlock always knew every answer...except to this one.

**TBC**


	16. Chapter 16

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**A huge thank you to all of you who have left a review...I do try and reply to you all as they mean so much!**_

**Chapter 16**

The Holmes Estate

The moment John had left Sherlock changed out of his suit and pulled on the tattiest pair of pyjamas that he could find. He flung himself back onto his bed and contemplated whether or not to resume drinking or withdraw into his mind palace and contemplate what had tilted his whole world on its axis.

He decided on the former.

He was halfway down the stairs when Mycroft entered the hall from the Study.

"Ah, Sherlock, just the man. A word if you will." He gestured towards the open study door.

"I have no intention of wasting my breath talking to you, I have a far more pressing engagement." He went to move past Mycroft.

"You can drink yourself into another stupor when I leave; however, I wish to speak to you with regards to the events of Friday evening and the damage limitation exercise I will undoubtedly have to undertake."

"There is nothing to discuss. There was a party, I wasn't invited. Remind you of anything?" Sherlock spat out the words with more than customary venom.

"It reminds me of many things, Sherlock, which is why I am here."

"If this is you and John's idea of a pity party, you can just piss off."

"John is very loyal to you. I would even go so far as to call him a friend."

"I don't have friends. As I have repeatedly told you and as was borne out on Friday night. I DO NOT HAVE FRIENDS!"

Mycroft snorted softly under his breath.

Sherlock pushed past Mycroft. "Don't you have a war to start somewhere? Or a government to topple?"

"No, but I do have a sibling who is deliberately being as obtuse as he possibly can."

"I do hope that you are not intending on dishing out relationship advice, Mycroft."

"At least I have experience of them."

"Ah, and now we get to the point of why you are here. Gloating was never your strong point." Sherlock opened the library door.

"You won't find what you are looking for in there."

"What have you done with it?" Sherlock lunged into the room and began opening the doors on the cupboards that held the drinks. "Where is it?" Sherlock noticed that even the antique Tantalus was missing. He slammed the doors and threw himself onto the sofa.

Mycroft smiled.

"When you have decided to cease this ridiculously childish behaviour, I will be waiting in the Study."

"You'll be waiting a long time."

"I have my phone, I can always carry on my official engagements while I wait for you to see sense."

Sherlock deliberately turned his face from Mycroft and sighed dramatically.

"In the Study Sherlock" Mycroft glanced at his watch "this side of lunchtime would be appreciated."

A muffled "Piss off." could be heard from the depths of the sofa.

-0-

The Study.

Mycroft settled himself in the wingchair by the fire and smiled.

He would win this battle of wills with Sherlock.

It was imperative that he did.

The future of the Holmes family; scions of the English aristocracy since 1066; rested on the shoulders of the petulant man-child who was currently pouting on the sofa in the Library.

It was also imperative that Sherlock did not get wind of this; otherwise he would dig in his heels and the battle would be over before it had begun.

-0-

221B Baker Street.

John sat alone in the flat.

It was disconcerting how empty it felt without Sherlock being around.

It seemed hollow and lifeless.

As if Sherlock was its life force and the flat was hibernating...waiting for his return.

John reflected on the last few days.

The fun and laughter of Molly's party.

The well earned hangover.

The phone call from Mycroft.

The trip to the Holmes estate.

THAT revelation from Sherlock.

Sherlock!

Molly!

Sherlock and Molly!

_...well that was unexpected...Sherlock and Molly...shame he's such a dick that he'll only admit it when he's hammered..._

John wondered what, if anything, he could do to help his woefully unprepared friend to test the waters of a relationship. He realised that the biggest hurdle would be just getting Sherlock to admit to any sort of feeling for Molly, romantic or otherwise.

He pulled out his phone and dialled Mycroft's number. It went immediately to voicemail. John sighed. It was going to be a long day.

-0-

The Holmes Estate – Library.

Sherlock's mind palace refused him entry.

It just kept whispering...Mycroft's here...Mycroft's here...

If he wanted a drink he would have to deal with Mycroft and then he could get stuck into the brandy again and hopefully pass out so that he would not have to suffer _that_ dream of Molly again.

That embarrassing dream...where his body had betrayed his mind...rousing in him physical desires he had firmly shut the lid on when he'd become married to his work.

Being a Consulting Detective his work was his love, his life...his wife.

And now this fickle mistress called...

He had no idea what this feeling was...

He liked Molly; he liked Molly a lot; he liked Molly an awful lot.

_...But to pursue this further was..._

He sighed; he might as well face the inevitable.

He smiled...he'd still make Mycroft wait a bit longer.

-0-

St Bart's Morgue

Molly was still thankfully unaware of the fallout from Friday's party.

Neither John nor Mycroft had any intention of telling her.

That was Sherlock's job.

Eventually.

Maybe.

-0-

The Holmes Estate

Sherlock waited another thirty seven minutes before he moved.

He needed to don his armour before he went into battle with Mycroft.

Tatty striped flannel pyjamas were not the ticket.

It took him another twenty eight minutes to shower, shave and dress.

_...let battle commence..._

When Sherlock entered the room, Mycroft was conducting an imaginary orchestra, his eyes closed.

"Leading the Royal Philharmonic again, Mycroft?"

"Berlin Symphony, actually..."

"Wagner, then?"

"Of course."

Sherlock sat on the opposite chair. "Well?"

"Let's not waste any more time Sherlock, I do have work to do. What are your intentions with regards to Doctor Hooper?"

"Are you asking if my intentions are honourable? Surely even you aren't that old fashioned? Been reading Austen again?"

"Sherlock!"

A pained look crossed his face.

"Sherlock, I know I have...jested...in the past about your...lack of romantic entanglements, however, I am not unaware of the baggage that you carry with regards to our parents...relationship."

"It affected us both, Mycroft."

"Yes, but you seem to be using it as an excuse..." he raised his hand "let me finish...an excuse to deny yourself the companionship that a loving relationship could bring you."

"I have John."

"That's hardly the same, unless you have decided to play for my side and I hardly think that a ladies' man like John would like the implication."

A wary silence fell between the brothers.

It was Sherlock who broke first; he knew he would; Mycroft was a master at this game.

"I...like Molly...I admitted to John, whilst drunk, that I wished to...get to know Molly a little better...outside the parameters of Bart's."

"And what precisely is stopping you?"

"I don't know..."

"Yes you do. It's you, Sherlock. Only you can take that first step, you'll find that once you have taken that, the rest falls into place naturally."

"What if it goes wrong?"

"Ah there's the rub, Sherlock one can never be certain of anything in this life, especially...love...but if one never tries...well that's the greatest mistake of all."

"Do you love your wife?"

"As much as I can." He gestured to himself.

"And Jeremy?"

"Of course. He makes my life complete."

"Ah..."

"Sherlock you have the best instinctive brain I have ever encountered. Use it..."

"Treat this as a case?"

"Not exactly, Sherlock...but use your instinct to do what you think is right."

**TBC**


	17. Chapter 17

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**A huge thank you to all of you who have reviewed, followed and added the story to your favourites. **_

_**Apologies for the delay in posting but real life got in the way, I will try and finish this element of the story this week as the following week I won't be able to post. I have decided that this story will have a third instalment which will take things to the 'next' step.**_

_**Anyway enough wittering from me and on with the show...**_

**Chapter 17**

_Three Days Later._

_221B Baker Street._

Sherlock was bored.

Three days of lying on the sofa in his pyjamas.

Three days locked in his mind palace trying to find a solution to the problem that was Molly.

He'd been unsuccessful.

He was missing John who had inconsiderately swanned off to Arborfield for an army reunion or some such trivial matter. John was always a useful sounding board on certain matters, not that Sherlock would ever admit to it. But now more than ever he needed John's advice. Because in the area of 'girlfriends' John was the expert.

..._girlfriend...what a dreadful word...would that make him a boyfriend?..._

He shuddered; the thought of him being referred to as a 'boyfriend' was beyond contemplating. Maybe Molly could be persuaded to use the term friend or what had John called it... 'friends with benefits'. Sherlock remembered that John had had to explain just what the benefits were...maybe partner was less problematic. His mind flitted over all the other euphemisms for a girlfriend...

Significant other.

Ball and Chain.

Trouble and Strife...yes, well this whole episode was causing enough of both to Sherlock.

He realised that he was drifting into categorising his..._whatever..._with Molly and he hadn't yet come up with a way to even take the first step.

-0-

John was relieved to see that 221B appeared to be intact when the taxi dropped him off. He just hoped that the interior was in a similar state.

The door opened on a haze of cigarette smoke.

There was an odd sound coming from the living room.

A resonant _thunk _followed by a _ping_ as something hit the wall and then clattered to the floor.

John peered round the corner and then hit the floor in a dive roll combination as something whizzed above his head and embedded itself in the fridge door.

"What the fuck are you playing at, you could have KILLED ME!" John yelled from his prone position on the kitchen floor.

"If I'd intended to hit you, I would have."

John cautiously peered over the top of the table.

Sherlock was sprawled on his chair, a crossbow dangling from his left hand.

"Sherlock...a crossbow? How...never mind."

"Don't make such a fuss John, honestly, one would think I deliberately aimed at you."

"Sherlock...you DID aim at me...and nearly hit me...give that thing to me."

"It's mine."

"I don't give a toss who's it is, just give it to me."

"No!"

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock dropped the crossbow on the floor and gave John an exasperated glare.

"Fine!"

John sat down opposite Sherlock "Ok...I'm guessing this is all to do with the whole Molly situation?"

"It didn't take a genius to work that out John, so stop looking so smug." Sherlock closed his eyes "Any chance of a cup of tea?"

"You might not want to shoot at or insult someone and then expect them to make you tea, Sherlock."

"If I apologise would that help?"

"Why do I bother? You would drive a saint to swear. I'll go and put the kettle on but you can open the windows and try and clear the air. I have no intention of inhaling three days worth of your second hand smoke."

Twenty minutes later saw both men sitting with tea and biscuits. John was waiting for Sherlock to bring up the issue...THE issue of Molly. He wasn't going to start this conversation, he was going to make Sherlock work for his knowledge on all things...female.

By 8.15 pm John was getting fed up with Sherlock's continued silence, but he was determined not to break first.

Forty minutes later John capitulated.

"Ok, what is it you want to know?"

Sherlock smirked. "I knew you'd give in first."

"Can we just drop the childish games, I am not Mycroft."

"Fine. I, as you know, wish to get to know Molly on a more...personal...basis. I have no idea how to go about it and I have spent the last three days driving myself into insanity. I have no idea how these things work, I only see what examples I have from my parents and the cases I deal with, neither of which have ended with any degree of success."

"Sherlock, nothing especially relationships are guaranteed to work, but if you don't try then you will never know."

"I don't know how to start...to try." Sherlock ruffled his hair in annoyance "I need to know the answers John, but I don't even know what the questions are. This is not my area..."

"It's a good job that some of us are interested then, isn't it. Listen Sherlock it's different for everyone, I can only give you guidance. I can't tell you what to say to Molly, only you can work that out because it needs to come from the heart, she needs to realise that you are sincere, that you aren't just trying to wangle something from the lab. Do you understand?"

"But what do I need to say? When I flatter her, it sounds as if I'm..." he tailed off.

"Mean what you say, don't smirk when you do it. Make her realise that you are sincere, Sherlock. People ask each other out every day, it's not rocket science. At least you know that Molly likes you, that's a good start."

"She doesn't like me at the moment, you said so." He looked so forlorn, hunched up on his chair, arms wrapped round his long legs.

John sighed in exasperation "Sherlock for someone so clever you really are thick on occasions. I was winding you up, you tit."

"Why would you do that?" Sherlock's eyes opened wide with surprise and shock.

"Because you couldn't see the wood for the trees. Look, just go to Bart's tomorrow and talk to Molly. You don't have to ask her out straight away, but talk...ask her about her weekend."

"Ask her about the party I wasn't invited too?" a snide tone entered Sherlock's voice.

"And that's exactly why you are going to fuck this up before you've even started. Let the bloody party go, Sherlock. Stop being a child, grow a set of balls and ask the bloody woman out. Forget the weekend, forget the coffee... just ask her out...for a drink...or dinner..."

"Why have you suddenly changed your mind from asking her about the weekend to taking her for dinner?"

"Because I've just realised the more you open your mouth the more likely you are to balls it up."

"When I put my mind to something I can always accomplish it, John, do have faith in me."

"Well you had three days when I wasn't here and you didn't manage it then did you?"

Sherlock leapt to his feet and stalked past john; slamming his bedroom door.

John was yet again thankful that the glass had not been replaced in the bathroom door.

Sherlock really was the most trying person in the universe; especially when he knew he was wrong.

-0-

John examined the crossbow bolt in the fridge door as he extracted two ice cubes for his whiskey. Just how _that_ was going to be explained to Mrs Hudson was something that Sherlock could deal with. Their rent had already increased once this year due to the 'excessive wear and tear' on the flat.

On turning he noticed Mycroft standing in the half light of the living room.

"Christ, Mycroft...you...you scared the shit out of me...how do you...never mind...doesn't matter."

"Good evening John."

"Can I offer you a drink?" John raised his own.

"Please...no ice for me."

"So?"

"I take it that Sherlock has returned home?"

"The stale smell of smoke is a bit of a give away."

"How is he?"

"He's Sherlock, what do you expect? He's going to drive us insane before this is over. He nearly shot me with a crossbow earlier."

"Ah, that's where it went. I did wonder when I noticed it missing from the Long Gallery. It had to be Sherlock of course, but it's nice to have it confirmed. You haven't seen a six foot broadsword have you?"

"Please tell me he didn't take those on a train."

Mycroft merely raised an eyebrow.

"Right, so I also need to be wary of a confused lunatic flatmate who now has access to a gun, a crossbow and a six foot broadsword."

"Indeed."

"Not to be rude, Mycroft, but why are you here?"

"Just checking up on Sherlock. Is there any progress on...shall we call it Plan Hooper?"

"I think Operation Cockup might be more appropriate for it..."

"Ah, yes well. I'll leave it in your capable hands, then John." Mycroft set his untouched glass on the coffee table "I'll see myself out, goodnight."

John picked up Mycroft's glass and drained. He savoured the burn on the alcohol as it slid down his throat, he would need to stock up on whiskey if he was going to keep a lid on his sanity over the next few days.

**TBC**

**The next chapter will move things along...honest!**

**Thanks for reading.**


	18. Chapter 18

_**As usual I own nothing but the plot, all kudos goes to Moffat and Gatiss and ACD.**_

_**A huge thank you to all of you who have reviewed, followed and added the story to your favourites. You know who you are and I love you all xxx**_

_**Anyway...back to the plot**_

**Chapter 18**

**It is Friday, exactly one week since the 'party' and approximately two weeks since the destruction of Sherlock's experiments...**

Bart's Lab

Molly was pottering round the lab, it was already proving to be a quiet day and she had already cleared the backlog of paperwork yesterday evening when she had covered a late shift as a favour.

Without thinking what she was doing, she found herself standing in front of Sherlock's lab bench.

She stood and looked at it; it was almost an exact replica of what she had destroyed. Tidier possibly and less spread out; but that would change with time.

If she was honest with herself, she missed him.

There, she'd finally admitted it to herself...she missed the annoying, know-it-all, handsome, brilliant detective.

She closed her eyes.

She missed him.

Yes, she missed John too, but nothing like the shallow emptiness that Sherlock not visiting the lab caused.

If it had been anyone else, Molly would have sent them a text or rang them and asked them for coffee, but that had never worked with Sherlock, he would consider a call from her to be the utmost in futility and waste of both his and her time and the waste of a text message.

Little did she know that at that exact point, Sherlock would have worshiped the ground she walked on, to have received a text from her.

-0-

221B Baker Street.

Sherlock stood in front of his wardrobe and contemplated 'things'.

He wasn't considering what he was going to wear; that was obviously going to be the purple shirt that Molly seemed to appreciate and his usual suit.

But the dark interior of the wardrobe seemed to allow his mind to visualise what might happen when he finally confronted Molly at Bart's; they ranged from Molly throwing herself at him begging him to do unspeakable things on the lab bench; to having a scalding cup of coffee thrown over him.

He wasn't sure which one he was more worried about.

On further consideration the former was more worrying...

Sex...

Mycroft was right...it did alarm him.

He didn't like being at a disadvantage...ever.

He wondered...hopefully...whether Molly might also be a virgin.

That would make them both equally...alarmed...his mind couldn't supply a different word.

But he realised the chances of that being the case, based on Molly's outfit last Christmas, and seemed to be a tad optimistic.

So...in that one area of life, John Mycroft and Molly would be the expert. His mind refused to contemplate that in the whole sphere of his acquaintances, family and friends he was the only one who had yet to experience sex.

He also realised that he could spend the rest of the day standing in front of the wardrobe and nothing, not one iota would have changed with regards to the 'situation' which was how he now referred to it in his mind.

It would also be expedient to have vacated 221B before John returned from 'doing a bit of shopping' which Sherlock immediately realised was a euphemism for Christmas Shopping. And that meant that he, Sherlock would need to purchase some meaningless fripperies for Mycroft et al. Unless he wanted to deal with the aftermath of an unpresented Christmas...again.

..._oh joy unbounded..._

There was only one thing for it.

He grabbed his coat and scarf and headed out into the dark grey of a London winter.

-0-

Bart's Lab

Molly heard the short sharp buzz of the door.

It buzzed just the once.

Without even thinking of who might be at the door she opened it without looking...

When the person didn't move she looked up.

Sherlock.

Looking every bit as bloody gorgeous as ever.

_...Sodding Git..._

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them spoke.

Sherlock eventually shoved a cup of coffee towards Molly, succeeding in spilling half of it on the floor.

"For you...latte one sugar, that's it isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, thank you." She looked from the coffee to Sherlock "Did you buy this for me?"

"Of course!" he bristled slightly "I had to deal with a great deal of irritating nonsense regarding what sort and then what size I wanted...the imbecile could not just understand that I required two normal cups of coffee; and then failed to shut up when I advised him that if he offered me one more option that I would get Lestrade to arrest him for wasting public time."

"Oh!"

"Indeed, so drink up before it goes cold or you spill the rest of it." He strolled past her and towards his experiments.

"Sherlock is John with you?"

"No, he's out Christmas shopping." He rolled his eyes in horror. "Molly, you aren't still implementing the rules on the door are you? I was sure that things between us had settled down."

"Sherlock...I...I haven't seen you since...well, last week and you can't carry on behaving like you did. You can't just hide for a few days and then pop back here and pretend nothing happened."

"I didn't hide...I was working."

"Whatever you were doing Sherlock, you need to understand that I am not willing for things to go back to as they were."

Sherlock actually pouted.

"I liked things how they were...before..." he tailed off, unable to look Molly in the face.

"Before what, Sherlock?" Molly felt she was missing something here.

"Before we argued, before you wouldn't see me."

"Sherlock we didn't argue, you barged in on a date and I dumped your experiments, there was no argument."

"You don't dither when you are angry, did you know that Molly?" he moved towards her.

"Yes...no...oh bugger it Sherlock, why do you have to be like this. Why can't you be normal?"

"Would you like me more if I were normal...and boring, Molly Hooper?"

"Stop it..."

"Stop what?"

"You know exactly what you are doing and that's why you have to stop it, it's not fair."

"Life's not fair...is it?"

"No it's bloody not, because if it was I wouldn't be this pathetic excuse for a woman who can't get over the one man in the whole bloody world who isn't interested."

"Is that what you think?"

"Is what what I think?"

"That I am not interested in you?"

"Not in...well...you know...that way." Molly could feel her colour rising to her cheeks.

"I find you interesting."

Molly stood and looked at Sherlock with her mouth forming a perfect 'O' of surprise.

"Sherlock, what are you on about?"

"Why didn't you invite me to your birthday party? Don't I count?" there was a slight edge to his voice; it was something he couldn't let go...he had to know.

"How did you...stupid me, of course you know..."

"I followed John and Mrs Hudson. Why didn't you want me there Molly?"

She realised that his voice had dropped and there was an undertone of sorrow that was never there.

"Because you hate parties and...and...well...we weren't really on the best of terms. I didn't do it maliciously Sherlock, please believe me. It was just...I didn't think you'd want to help celebrate my birthday." She dropped her head, refusing to look at him.

"I'm sorry you think so little of me, Molly."

"I don't Sherlock, honestly, I just didn't think...I just didn't..._think..._I'm so sorry, I would never want to offend you...please believe me..."

He could hear the catch in her voice.

_...bollocks...stop her crying you moron...stop her crying..._

"Then it's all forgotten, apart from this."

Sherlock pulled a small box from his coat pocket.

He set it on Molly's desk and took a step back.

"What's that?"

"Open it."

"Is it safe?"

Sherlock smiled "It's not booby trapped, if that's what you mean."

Molly picked up the exquisitely wrapped box and held it in her hand.

"You won't guess what's in it just by looking at it, you know." Sherlock smiled...one that made his eyes sparkle.

Molly gave a small smile and pulled off the white satin ribbon that held the box closed.

She was so nervous with Sherlock standing over her that her fingers began to tremble.

"Sorry, I'm all fingers and thumbs" she eventually opened the box and moved the white tissue wrapping to one side.

Nestled in its folds was a tiny silver charm.

A Centaur.

Sagittarius.

Her birth sign.

"Oh!" Molly held it up by its chain, watching as it sparkled under the lab's fluorescent lights.

Sherlock watched Molly's face with trepidation.

"Do you like it?"

Molly could hear the subtext..._please please please like it..._

"Sherlock, it's beautiful, how did you...oh of course...the party...it's..."

Sherlock saw a tear track down her cheek.

"Do you want to put it on?"

Molly could only nod.

Sherlock took the charm from her fingers; moved to stand behind her and gently swept her hair to allow him access to her neck.

Molly's world centred around the fact that Sherlock Holmes...the bloody Sherlock Holmes was standing behind her, his fingers touching her skin, the feel of his calloused fingertips dragging against her sensitive skin. She closed her eyes, wishing the moment would last forever and memorising every second.

The she could feel his breath; making a curl dance against his fingers.

Then...

_...oh God oh God...dear God in Heaven..._

She could feel his lips brushing for a second against her neck.

"Happy Birthday, Molly Hooper."

In a swirl of coat and scarf he was gone, leaving Molly, shaken and stirred leaning against his lab bench.

Before he could have even left the building her phone beeped.

*7.30 pm at Blind Beggar pub...SH*

Molly looked at the text in disbelief... was this a date? A crime scene? A what?"

*what is appropriate clothing. Molly*

*whatever you wear on a date...but I did like those black jeans SH*

Molly grinned...Sherlock Holmes it appeared despite all appearances was all man.

*Fine...black jeans it is...Molly*

Molly also realised that Sherlock Holmes was also determined to have the last word on the birthday party he hadn't been invited too. Hence the venue...he was incorrigible.

-0-

221B Baker Street

When John returned Sherlock was sitting in his chair, gently playing some Bach on the violin.

"So, did you go to Bart's?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what? You are lowering the IQ of the street at the moment John, please string a coherent sentence together."

"Fine. Did you go to Bart's and did you talk to Molly?"

Sherlock smirked as he stood and reached for his coat.

"Where are you going?"

"Out...I have a date."

"With Molly?"

Sherlock just gave him a pained look.

"So, you and Molly? You managed to ask her out without cocking it up?"

"So it would appear."

"Good, right...well...off you go then, I won't wait up."

"I will not be late home John, I hardly think that Molly and I will enter into any carnal knowledge with each other this evening."

John was left spluttering as Sherlock left the flat.

He was still standing there when Sherlock's head popped round the door.

"And don't even think about following me."

-0-

John watched the empty door for a few moments before picking up his phone and dialling Mycroft.

**TBC**

**I do hope you enjoyed this chapter...**


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